#and things seem to turn into a bad dream. all of hell a nightmare

[cannibaliist]

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right. 

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather. 

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night. 

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you. 

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket. 

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep. 

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer. 

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter. 

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.” 

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?” 

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.” 

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones. 

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you. 

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before. 

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming. 

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.” 

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way. 

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”  

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you. 

“Hurry, please.” 

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her. 

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate. 

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.  

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt. 

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her. 

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps. 

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble. 

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her. 

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her. 

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue. 

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego. 

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”  

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.” 

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it. 

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra. 

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind. 

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both. 

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob. 

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips. 

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point. 

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else. 

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again. 

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you. 

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again. 

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.” 

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress. 

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard. 

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw. 

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion. 

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic. 

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you. 

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.  

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again. 

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.” 

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly. 

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep. 

~~~~

[astonmartinii]

big reputation | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem reader

they may have a big reputation and they may be end game, but sometimes you need a push from your girlfriend to enter your reputation era

(also no hate to vasseur and sainz, it's just the way the fic had to go)

MASTERLIST | TIPS

f1newsandgossip

liked by user1, user2 and 13,209 others

f1newsandgossip: after ferrari's continued chaos and inability to get anything right it seems, do you think charles leclerc will stick around and renew his contract?

view all comments

user3: i love him and i love ferrari but if he wants any shot of winning a championship he has to leave

user4: i would die to see him at red bull or even mercedes

user5: would he want to be a second driver though?

user4: babes they treat him like he's the second driver at ferrari at least there he'd have a competent car and team

user6: yes ! he has to leave, no one at that team respects him anymore

user7: he should've left a long time ago but this season has to be the final nail in the coffin

user8: all he does it protect ferrari and ferrari don't even give a shit about him it's actually sad

user9: they don't even protect him from his teammate and his teammate's parents being rude about him in the media

user10: for real the man needs to stop being a team player and tell him how it is

user11: i feel so so bad for him because his childhood dream is turning into a nightmare and through no fault of his own

user12: i know y/n is absolutely seething and the only reason she hasn't said anything yet is because charles is so in love with the team that he won't say anything bad about them

user13: i need her to give him a lil slap around to get his head in gear

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, charles_leclerc and 1,309,556 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: you and me got a big reputation

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user14: me being delusional: OMG THIS MEANS CHARLES IS FINALLY ENTERING HIS REPUTATION ERA

user15: and then we remember rep is an album about love first and revenge second :(

charles_leclerc: is this a taylor swift reference?

yourusername: yes it is !! i knew you were actually listening when i gave you the full eras breakdown

charles_leclerc: i'd listen to you talk about anything

yourusername: even the things you don't want to hear?

charles_leclerc: i think it has gotten to that point, yes.

user16: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN ^^ ???

alexalbon: when will i be freed from the shackles of having to take cute photos of you two

yourusername: NEVER

charles_leclerc: is a seat on my jet not enough?

alexalbon: YOUR JET? i have clearly missed something here

maxverstappen1: alex is always free to fly air max (MY jet, factually)

yourusername: when did this become a dick measuring contest? (charles would win, you can all go home)

maxverstappen1: i don't want you to see my dick

charles_leclerc: i should think not verstappen

alexalbon: i don't know how i hang out with you morons

user17: gosh y/n is so sexy

user18: i am allowing myself to live in delusion and after the shitshow that was austin, y/n is initiating the reputation era and charles will either give ferrari hell or actually leave

user19: idk that man might be completely in love with y/n but he's even more in love with ferrari

charles_leclerc: nothing compares to her

user20: WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN?

charles_leclerc

liked by georgerussell63, yourusername and 1,204,509 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: hola mexico! can't wait for the weekend to start

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user22: post your team or car? no. post a random picture of your girlfriend? yes.

user23: he should post an explanation as to why his gf was being wined and dined by christian horner

yourusername: ZOOWEE MAMA

charles_leclerc: excuse me?

yourusername: instagram would ban me if i really said what i think

charles_leclerc: oh i'm blushing

yourusername: but always above all you are a cutie patootie

user24: i see posts like this and i wonder why do they always have break up rumours if they are this in love?

user19: bestie we simply cannot be believing everything we read, especially when it comes from a certain spanish paper

liked by yourusername

user24: wait what is this supposed to mean?

user19: any "insider source" at ferrari that has anti-leclerc info is usually the sainz family lol that's why other than ferrari being clowns in general charles needs to get the fuck out

pierregasly: rivalling me with just how much you post y/n

charles_leclerc: ummmm you've met her, and you wouldn't?

charles_leclerc: WAIT don't answer that

user25: so are we just ignoring that y/n was at dinner with CHRISTIAN HORNER?

user26: the red bull!charles dream a bit more feasible now and i am appropriately feral

user27: obsessed with how he's just ignoring the horner thing

user28: i am similarly obsessed with how the media are spinning this to an affair between y/n and horner LMAO

yourusername: he made us split the bill after ordering a really spenny wine :/

user29: I'M CRYING

user30: horner's like if i don't get a driver out of this dinner i will be having a nice glass of wine he's so real for that

scuderiaferrari: let's get it 💪

user31: GET A JOB. LEAVE HER ALONE

liked by yourusername

user32: lol she's so tired of being subtle

user33: TELL THEM SIS

f1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing and 1,450,667 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

f1: BREAKING: charles leclerc signs for red bull racing for 2024 on a four year contract

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user36: they're MUGGY for the first picture omg

user37: SOMEONE CALL THE EMERGENCY SERVICES FOR ME I CAN'T BREATHE

user38: wait so like who do i have to thank for finally making this happen?

user39: this has y/n y/ln written all over it - the dinner with horner finally makes sense

pierregasly: WHAT ?????????

user40: HE'S FINDING OUT AT THE SAME TIME AS US? DID ANYONE KNOW?

user41: THERE WILL BE NO EXPLANATION JUST REPUTATION

liked by yourusername

user42: okay since y/n and charles have referenced the reputation album so much during this whole fiasco .... taylor swift x charles leclerc piano ballad collab when?

user43: so this is il predestinato who has betrayed his team and completely blindsided him? this is why carlos has always been the superior driver

liked by carlossainz55

user44: not carlos liking this comment

yourusername: i wish he would say something with his chest, always hiding behind his parents and the spanish media ... yeah we know about that and we're no longer under that stupid contract so i can and will say this all to your face

user45: HOLY SHITTTTTTTTTT

carlossainz55: you got the move and attention you wanted stop trying to drag me into it

yourusername: babe there's a difference between you and i, you create fake cheating rumours to try and shake your teammate while your PR team is fulltime constantly having to threaten legal action over you not being able to keep it in your pants

user46: ERM QUEEN THEY STILL HAVE RACES TOGETHER

redbullracing: anyways.... WELCOME TO THE TEAM CHARLES

user47: admin what is going on?

redbullracing: i have no clue but as soon as that man is in a navy race suit i will get the tea trust

user48: so real of you

maxverstappen1: ☕️

user49: LMAO KING

yourusername: i have a feeling we might get on (no more inchidents though)

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, charles_leclerc and 1,344,099 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: they said i did something bad, why does it feel so good?

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user51: momma does not play oh my

taylorswift: proud 🖤 🐍

yourusername: approved by our lord and saviour, thanks mother

charles_leclerc: do you need a pianist?

taylorswift: i'm sure we can work something out

landonorris: ^^ this is so unfair i thought i was the swiftie on the grid :(

danielricciardo: my rendition of our song says otherwise

user52: she really said FUCK FERRARI AND FUCK YOU TOO

user53: as she should

charles_leclerc: i'm not a playboy but i do LOVE YOU

yourusername: i love you even more

charles_leclerc: NUH UH I LOVE YOU MORE

yourusername: i would literally fight every person on earth for your hand

charles_leclerc: oh wow ... mark me scared AND horny

alexalbon: okay that's ENOUGH

user54: i'm so glad she shook him out of the ferrari daze he. might finally have a chance at the championship now

user55: i'd be afraid that ferrari may build a good car next year but then i remember it's ferrari LOL

user56: so y/n mentioned under the f1 post about a contract? was she not able to say anything about ferrari while with charles?

yourusername: yes. i was not able to say anything they considered negative. many times when i expressed disappointment in how charlie has been treated i was reprimanded by ferrari and was banned from the paddock for weekends following any statements

user57: wtf that is crazy ??? makes sense as to why charles always blames himself when it was clearly a pit/strategy issue

yourusername: ferrari have attempted to keep charlie under wraps since his second season at the team. they were worried about him becoming outspoken like seb. this goes all the way down to his music which they tried to prevent him from releasing. i'm glad he'll be given the chance to show his talents next season

user58: thank the lord charles finally left. this is insane. the reputation era was well and truly needed.

maxverstappen1: kelly wants to know whether now you'll be wag teammates that you can raid each other's wardrobes?

yourusername: of course !!! i can't wait to see her more often coffee dates are a must ( + p of course)

charles_leclerc: i'm gonna beat your ass at padel i WILL be the padel king at red bull

maxverstappen1: i will show NO MERCY

yourusername: maybe this was a bad idea ...

charles_leclerc

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tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: it saddens me to my core to be leaving the team i always dreamed of racing for and winning with, but there comes a point in your career when it's time to put your ambitions above tradition. ferrari has always been the dream for me, but the last couple of years have been a nightmare. i never thought i'd be put in a position where i'd have feelings like these about the team i love, but the constant disrespect, betrayal and the treatment of my loved ones leaves me no other choice. despite this sad ending, i am looking forward to new opportunities at red bull, racing alongside an old friend and under a competent leadership. finally, thank you to y/n and my family for being there for me during this time despite the way we were all treated. i know i will get questions, but there will be no explanation, just reputation.

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user59: he really left comments open so we could drag ferrari

user60: and drag i shall do... that man despite the absolute tomfoolery got that shitbox on the podium and NONE OF YOU SHOWED UP

user61: for real, they're out here trying to show charles as petty but then KEEP PROVING HIS POINT LOL

yourusername: i am so unbelievably proud of you. i know this was a hard choice but it's the one you had to make. today and every other day i will always be there to support you even if no one else is

user62: subtle DRAG

charles_leclerc: i love you to the moon and to saturn

yourusername: you're my invisible string

yourusername: also this is what i mean when i say reputation is a love story with a side of shade

user63: i know binotto let out a sigh of relief that he dodged this shit storm

yourusername: that fraud is SO lucky i was under contract while he was there otherwise i'd drag his ass so bad he'd be bald

charles_leclerc: i don't know how he made it out of silverstone alive after the whole finger wagging saga, i had to hold her back

sebastianvettel: i hate to say i told you so .....

charles_leclerc: SEB ????? BUT I'M DOING IT NOW, I'M NOT WASTING IT (tell christian to give me the better strategies i know you're still the o.g golden boy)

maxverstappen1: you know i can see this right?

christianhorner: and me?

charles_leclerc: @yourusername baby please take the fall for me

yourusername: I COMMENTED THAT

maxverstappen1: you guys really aren't slick... you're lucky i already love you two

christianhorner: i feel like i need to brief PR already

yourusername: if it makes it any better i'm a great baker and very generous

redbullracing: WE'LL TAKE IT

user64: @netflix make sure there's a camera in that garage at ALL TIMES

pierregasly: proud of you calmar, i hope this works out better for you than it did for me

yourusername: NO ROOM FOR PITY PARTY HERE SIR

yourusername: wait that was rude, we love you pierre

charles_leclerc: thank you pierre

pierregasly: ummmmmm tell y/n she can't say that ???

charles_leclerc: she made me see the light kinda owe her everything rn, so sorry?

christianhorner: definitely brief PR

note: teehee here it is. MY GOD my writing block has been insane - i also went on a trip to london and got horrendously drunk and made AWFUL decisions. alas, i hope you guys enjoy this and the race later !!

EDIT: I AM SO FUCKING ANNOYED AT THIS RACE ONE DAY WHERE CHARLES IS NOT FUVKED OVER IS ALL I ASK WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THIS

[dawnwriterimagines]

September Morning

LOGAN HOWLETT X FEM!READER LAURA KINNEY X PLATONIC!READER

Summary: Recalling the last day he'd held you.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

September.

A September morning it had been.

He remembers the sudden change of pace in the mansion, the school year was starting, students would be lining up in the halls for the start of the semester.

You had been so looking forward to returning to teaching, to your students.

Planning and setting up a curriculum, a classroom, that they'd never get to see.

It was a September morning...

Logan had kissed you that morning.

But, not in the way he should've. Not in the way he wished he had.

It was swift, a tight-lipped peck on the forehead per your bitter request. You had to practically beg him to show you a hint of romance these days, he'd been pulling himself away from you at the time. Feigning uninterest in your relationship, in you.

But, it hadn't been true.

His feelings for you could never be explained in words, 'Love' felt too simple, too modest, so he never said it. But, that had been it. He was in love, devastatingly so. Night and Day. Dreams and daydreams. Even his nightmares, spiraling images of mayhem that would silence with your presence. Every thought, every moment, every breath seemed to be dedicated just to you.

And it made the future a terror in his mind.

He's lived decades, over a century, through wars, torture, plagues and lovers. Nothing in his life ever lasted, especially nothing good.

Though this was his longest relationship, and you shared a healing factor that contributed to you living since the 1890s while appearing as a woman in her late 20s. Naturally, he looked forward to many more years with you, decades and decades of breathless love, a hundred lifetimes.

But, Logan was a disease. A plague on anything good that came his way. One day, he'd always come to destroy the beautiful things he loved so much.

And he didn't want that to be you.

So, thinking it was the best thing for you, for the both of them in the long run, he slowly, agonizingly stretched the bonds of your relationship. He stopped kissing you unless you asked, stopped touching you unless you begged, stopped eating with you at breakfast, stopped embracing you, indulging you, loving you in the way you needed. He stopped everything, but slowly, so slowly.

Logan couldn't help himself, he wanted it all to last. But, it couldn't.

When he caught himself slipping, staring at you a little too long, kissing you a bit too fiercely, he'd curse himself. Dig his claws into his skin, piercing the flesh and tearing a scream from his lungs.

It was to protect you.

His feelings couldn't get in the way of you being safe from him. From the bad luck that followed him up from hell, that clung to his form and wrapped around anything to close.

It was a September morning when he was confronted by you.

"Logan," you took his wrist as he tried to part from you. "What's wrong?" you wondered, sadly.

He doesn't turn to face you, keeping his eye on the bedroom door, leaving you, he had to leave. If he stayed any longer... "Don't do this again, nothing's wrong."

"Of course, there is," you pulled at his hand, trying to pull him back. Back to you. "There's been something wrong for a long while, just tell me. Tell me and we can figure it out."

"Tell you what?" Logan coldly glanced back at you. "Haven't I told you enough?"

"You haven't told me anything," you frowned, staring right back. "This, whatever you're doing, isn't saying anything. I don't want you to walk away. I need you to talk to me."

He rips his wrist from your grip, forcefully, turning fully to face you, nostrils flaring but it doesn't faze you. You've handled the wolverine's temper before, hell your relationship used to be malicious before it became romantic. "Then you must be deaf," he says. "I think I've been more than clear. Any person with sense would've gotten it by now. Or maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

"Don't do that," Jaw tensing, your eyes narrow at your lover. "Don't be a child. Just say it. Tell me how you feel instead of pushing me away to make it easier on yourself."

"If you don't know by now," he spoke, he took a breath as he struggled to say much else. "I haven't been showing you clearly."

At that, you quiet a bit. Eyes flickering around his face for the truth, face falling, hurt evident in your expression, his heart hurts at the look, but he masks his agony as best as he knows.

Logan was physically stiffening up, fists clenched up, jaw clicking, he wasn't ready to confront this with you. He never even wanted it to end, he thought it'd be easier. So, he doesn't say anything, fighting with himself, expression twisting with his rampant thoughts.

"Logan," your painful expression nearly breaks him. You open your mouth, but your words come out in a stuttered whisper before falling quiet again. You're lost, confused.

"I don't understand. I...I thought we'd...found each other. Didn't we? Find each other," you murmured. "In all this pain, and grief, I found you, Logan..." the crack in your voice makes him turn away, a grimace along his face, a wince at your words.

Though you hadn't lived as long as him, you'd faced a century of hardship, decades of loneliness, death and vulnerability, you'd known no concept of safety until the X-Men. Until him.

Found through the rubble, you'd pulled each other out of, it was easy to fall in love. Promises of forever and beyond even that. Promises of together through the end of time, through the end of the world. Logan Howlett had confessed his love a thousand times over without saying a word, and you'd believed him like he held every precious ounce of trust in his hands.

You take his hand now, your eyes filling with tears as he stayed silent, your thumb running along his knuckles, he lets you. "Tell me you found me," as you cried, he takes your face in his hands, bridging the gap between you. Your first tear runs down his fingers, he wipes them away. "Tell me you love me..."

Logan Howlett speaks a truth he's regretted throughout his life afterwards, a moment that would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. "Have I ever before?" he wondered simply.

Instantly you're out of his arms, stumbling back away as if he'd burned you. Your eyes are wide, they dart away from him, your shoulders dropping as you come to the terrible conclusion, he was right. Logan had never said he'd loved you.

Logan's eyes burn, his fingers curling in on themselves and his chest hurts too much to take a breath. He wants to take it all back. Beg on his knees for forgiveness. He'd do anything. Jump through fire, fall in a pit of snakes, fight an army, snatch as many souls from hell that he needed to get back into your arms.

But, this was the plan. This was how it had to be.

Every word meant to sting, to burn and brandish you in a way that destroys your love for Logan Howlett.

Pulling himself away from this room before he can face your tears for another moment, he turns the knob to the door, opening and closing it behind him.

Stomping down the hallway, fighting every step as he could smell, hear, practically taste the sobs that tore from your throat as he leaves.

He nearly collapses as he takes the corner, his hand pressing into the side wall to steady himself. His heart in his ears, breathing harshly as his eyes redden and sting with unshed tears.

"Logan?" Scott sounds from behind him, questioning. "Everything alright?"

His rival, his friend, puts his hand on his shoulder, but it's shrugged off immediately. "Fine," Logan says without turning. Continuing down the hallway and away from him.

Scott makes a face, confused, before turning to Jean, who follows him out of their room. She notices Logan turning the next corner down to the stairs, "What's going on?"

"No idea," Scott sighs. "Just Logan being his usual self."

At the sound of a motorcycle driving away from the driveway, he glances out of the side window of the manor, frowning deeply as he watches Logan speed away.

Jean hums, amused. "Surprised?"

"Never," Scott says, before perking up as he hears your crying down the hallway. "Or maybe I am. Is that (y/n)?"

Jean's face falls, she steps out into the hall, walking slowly over to your room. Your crying louder this time, she rushes over to the room. "(Y/n)!" she knocks hurriedly, before bursting inside. Holding you instantly as you collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face, you hiccup, allowing Jean to hold you tight. "Hey, hey, what happened, what's going on?"

Scott comes up to the open doorway, confused, worried. But, he opts for giving the women their privacy, closing the door a crack, before reaching for his phone and texting Logan.

This was unlike Logan. Well, upsetting you was unlike him, not being an asshole, that was completely like him.

But, he knew how much Logan loved you, never saying so much as a tease that would indirectly upset you. Logan was smitten for years, unable to even put his feelings into words without going flustered. Something was wrong.

Angrily typing, Scott sends the text to his teammate, before perking up in surprise as a subtle beep rings out in the hall. He walks around the corner, down the hallway, and notices a phone laying on the edge of the steps, Logan's phone. He frowns. "Shit."

He sighs then, walking back around the hall. Running into Ororo, the weather goddess's brows are furrowed in worry. "What's going on with Logan? He looked upset, what happened?"

"You should see (Y/n)," Scott breathes, disappointed. Ororo's eyes widen at the news. "I've never seen them like this."

"Oh my," she frowns, before a streak of light passes by the window, nearly blinding them both.

"Jeez, what the hell," Scott turns, putting his hand up as the light gets brighter. Is that the afternoon sun?

But, it's not the sun. It's humming...like metal vibrating against the glass.

The light eases and the two mutants stare in horror. A sentinel, giant in size, it's eye peaking into the X-Manor, it's glowing red eye catching sight of the two of them immediately.

"SCOTT!" Jean screams.

He and Ororo spin around as a beam of light tears through the hallway, through the walls, through the glass. Tearing apart the building as a rush of power obliterates everything, a green blast of fiery energy coursing through the bricks.

"JEAN!" Scott bellows. "(Y/N)!"

You, with Jean in tow in your arms, flying through the chaos, dirt and scorching heat searing through your skin, having narrowly avoided the beam. Jean casting a telepathic shield as you both ram through the side wall and away from the sentinel shooting from the northside of the building. "Go, go, go!"

Ororo takes Scott's hand, the two of them lifted by the winds and hurtling out of the window as the radiating beam tears through where they were last standing.

Jean and you following, a sentinel chasing after the two of you, you glance backwards as you force gravity to propel you forwards and towards the tree line. Your swollen eyes widen in horror as the chest of a sentinel pops open, falling down to meet you and Jean. The metal tendrils bursting through and wrapping around your ankle, quickly you let go of a surprised Jean.

She screams as she falls before hurriedly catching herself, as she carefully lands on the grass below, rolling down to safety. A dirty smear of soot along her face, she looks up, watching to her terror as you're swallowed inside of a sentinel, it's tendrils wrapping around your body and pulling you inside of it's trap.

You scream as the doors slam shut, hand extending outwards. Out towards the road, out towards Logan.

Jean's hands immediately rise upwards, desperately, "No, no!" she cries, but then the inside becomes engulfed in flames, you scream in agony in the air as your prison of metal suffocates you in a sudden rush of fire. "NOOO!" Jean screams, the violent light of a burning flame fills her eyes as she sobs out in horror.

The sentinel crashes downwards toward the far tree line with you buried in its casket, Jean's telepathic pull interrupted at the sheer weight of it's fall. She rushes down, running desperately, but the northside sentinel crashes down in front of her, it's beam of light rushing down on her.

Ororo with tears in her angry eyes pulls the winds down and towards Jean, pushing her out of the way of the lethal attack. She then pulls lightning from the sky, storm clouds rolling in, rain falling from them, a sudden strike of electricity collides with the large sentinel. It jerks, it's metal shuddering and loosening, but it then turns to her, it's beam whistling through the air.

She flies up, avoiding it. Then past the sentinel, pulling lightning from the clouds, she desperately strikes at the sentinel balled up by the tree line that burns with fire with you inside. With a cry, she brings it down, splintering its shell. But then, before her eyes, the metal changes in texture, from a dented metal, to a rocky surface of stone.

Fire spills out, and she can hear your weakened vocals crying for help.

Ororo wails like a vengeful spirit, bringing down the wrath of the storm down on the shield of the sentinel. But, without warning, a large hand of a sentinel swings toward her, knocking the weather goddess out of the sky. "Ah!"

Scott rips his glasses off his face, beams of concussive force springing from them and knocking the giant robot back a few feet, it's hand coming up to block the attach. The beam wearing down on it's metal, but it comes closer and closer.

With a rageful cry, his beams become larger, nearly covering the giant being, it stumbles back, the ground rumbling with each forced step back.

Jean lifts herself up, a telepathic push shoving the sentinel over before it can restart its beam to attack Scott. "Rah!" the sentinel lands on its back, nearly blowing them all back with the force of it.

As the sentinel falls, the rest of the X-Men emerge from the manor, Hank and Charles guiding the students out of the building and towards the field, away from the chaos.

Without wasting a second, the X-Men rush down the tree line, to the sentinel that's captured you, no noise escapes the trap. Jean telepathically tears into the metal, the sentinel's regenerative body fighting against her wishes. Forcing the metal to open, a terrible heat pouring out of the cracks, no one can get close enough, your crumbling hand falling out limply.

Jean screams.

Ororo cries. "No!"

Scott curses, hands coming up and over his head, horrified. "Oh God!"

Another streak of light tears through the field, rushing up towards them all this time, a violent beam of energy destroying everything. They turn, but it's too late.

---

Logan turns his glass, watching as the liquid swishes and shifts with every move.

Sitting in a local pub in the city, he sighed heavily to himself. He can't stop thinking of your face, how you looked when he said all those things, when he gave you lives that he'd forced you to believe.

He beats his forehead with his fist, grimacing miserably, as he sat there, taking another swig of his beer. "Fucking idiot," he curses himself.

Why did he have to ruin that? Every good thing. Ruined.

Why did he have to do this to himself?

What kind of joke was his life? This one thing. He couldn't just have this one thing...

No. He remembered. He couldn't.

He took another drink, waiting for the kick. He sighs at the burn in his throat that he waits to numb his thoughts to silence.

Against his better judgement, Logan takes out his wallet, realizing he'd forgotten his phone. He opens it, eyes softening at the picture of you he kept there, pulling it out, it was folded to block him out of the picture.

He held a little smile, letting you pull him to your face so you both were smushed together for a happy little photo. He recalled the day as it being the moment he knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with you, it was also the day he realized his selfish faults for dragging you into the mess of his life. But, dammit he wanted you so bad, he wanted to keep you, to love you as you loved him, eternally.

He couldn't have that.

Logan Howlett was destined never to have that again, he had decided.

But....the thing is he could've. Right?

He thought to himself, you weren't an average woman, you were an X-Man, an immortal so it seemed. You were no normal woman that he'd lose to time or disasters.

He could have you for decades more, a century longer. A millennia if you both were lucky.

Who else could say that? Just you. Just the two of you, really.

And he's been so desperate to ruin that...for fears that may never come true.

Logan thoughtfully puts his glass down, glancing around as he thinks to himself, what an idiot he was.

He bursts from his seat, a newfound purpose in himself, a revelation that he hadn't had before. He could be happy with you, as long as he protected you, as long as he loved you, as long as he left behind that plague that followed him. Leaving it behind in that stool, tearing himself from the darkness that followed him constantly, he thought only of you.

The things he'd make up for. The moments he'd never taken with you. The days he'd cherish with you. The life you could build together.

But, first, he had to apologize. And fuck, did he have a lot to apologize for.

As Logan's leaving the pub, the news turns on, a broadcast that makes him stop at the door.

"Breaking News, Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, a home for wayward mutants in upstate new york, has been attacked as of 6 p.m. tonight, so far there's been 14 casualties and counting..." as the news anchor speaks, all attention going to Logan at the news. His eyes widening at the helicopter view of the manor ripped to shreds, smoke traveling up the ruined building. A sentinel striking down on the land.

"No," he breathes. "No, no!" Logan rushes out of the pub, to his motorcycle, revving the engine and driving off.

---

Arriving at the institute, driving straight into the smoke filled land, strands of flame, burned fields and falling embers from the crumbling manor. Logan looks around, blood running cold as he runs through the field, finding the bodies of his students, bodies broken or just their limbs seared right off from the beams.

He finds Scott, his eyes staring open into the sky, this glasses broken, but his eyes don't light up with red energy as they would've. He's gone.

Then Jean. A few paces away from Scott. Blood in her hair, reaching out for her husband. Gone.

He doesn't find Ororo until he finds Hank. The both of them dead next to one another, he cradles her in his arms, leaning over her.

"(Y/n)," he gasps out, sick to his stomach. He cries out again. "(Y/n)!"

His voice echoes in the silent, crackling field. The sentinels having gone, the carnage remaining.

A creak of metal falling apart makes him turn quickly, rushing to the noise, the smoke is heavy here, embers flying to the sky.

Creaking metal splits, a sentinel he realizes, but it'd been burned through the inside out, charred.

A body falls out of the crack, hitting the grass as it crumbles.

His grief moves him first, rushing over, "Oh my god, oh my god," he repeats to himself as he runs. "(Y/N)!" Logan screams.

Dropping down in front of his lover, your skin cracked and burned to charcoal, hardened to the touch, beneath the skin, he can still see the flames that scorch beneath. And yet your eyes still find him.

He takes you in his arms, feeling as your body begins to crumble away. "No, no, no, what's happening?" he shudders as he realizes you're not healing. "No, why aren't you--why aren't you healing?" he takes your face in his hands, gentler this time than he had this morning, than he had any day. "Why aren't you healing, baby?"

He looks closely, your body's sustained blasts from explosions, beams, you've walked through flames before. What's going on?

Logan shakes his head. "Why--" he doesn't known what to do. "Come on, come on, please. You've gotta heal, darlin'. Come on."

Your heavy-lidded eyes just stare at him, you breathe subtly, hardly a breath at all.

Tears run freely down Logan's face this time. "I lied," he began quickly. "I had found you before I knew I loved you. I found you in my dreams and in my thoughts before I slept, I found you in every moment of every day, (Y/n), please," he admitted to his love. Eyes flickering around to see if her body would finally start regenerating as it always had, but you continued to crumble and crack. "Please. Please, (y/n), please," he sobbed.

A hiss of steam runs off your face, your tears sizzle away on your skin as they leave you. Your eyes closing briefly as Logan puts your forehead to his, "I love you in every moment," he hiccupped. "Of every day, of every hour," he gasps out as he feels your hand dragging up to his wrist. He takes your hand, it's fragile, cracking beneath the weight of his touch and the effort to move.

"I love you..." you speak with your last breath, sparing it for him.

"I love you," he cried, reaching down, kissing your lips.

He feels your hand crumble to dust in his hands, your legs in his lap lose weight as they follow in the same way. As your lips fall apart, he kisses your forehead, unable to open his eyes to watch as you fall away.

Logan breathes in a painful breath, heart breaking as he can't feel you in his arms any long. Squeezing the remains of you in his fists, he inhales deeply, a stutter of an agonizing sound, he cries as he finds the strength to open his eyes.

Nothing left of his lover, nothing left of you, but the embers that flies in the air, the ashes at his feet.

"Oh god," he cried, bringing himself down to the ground, fisting his hands in your ashes. He shakes violently, weeping into your remains, before sitting up and wailing into the air, a scream ripping through his lungs, tearing at his vocals.

The terrible sound could be heard miles away from the destroyed manor.

---

Years later, Logan sits at a pub. Taking another shot of whiskey.

"Another," he requests.

"No more," the bartender says to him, frowning with a look of disgust. "You know you're not welcome here."

Logan glances up, jaw tightening before sighing, fists unclenching. "Just one more and I'm outta here."

Reluctantly the bartender pours him another.

And then suddenly, a red suited merc jumps out of a portal, clumsily flipping off the pool table and spinning over towards the empty stool next to Logan.

Part 2 coming soon.

[itsnesss]

heyyy so could i request something about like thanos maybe leaving the reader pregnant and then leaving her so they run into each other after the first game and she's in like gi huns like "group" and after seeing her he gets worried about her and wants to protect her but shes really hurt and they don't really want them together again but it's just kind of fluffy of him trying to protect her

𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | thanos (player 230) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, tension, pregnant!reader, trauma, breakup, no happy ending

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The first game is over, but the weight of what happened still hurts, like a constant pressure on your chest. Everyone tries to find some normalcy amid the madness, but you know there’s no easy way out. You’re trapped here, just like everyone else.

Your thoughts keep returning to the same question: how did you end up here? The debt, the desperation, the uncertain future. You had done whatever it took to get money, to settle the bills that dragged you into this hell. Now, it all feels like a nightmare that won’t end. But there’s something else tormenting you, something you’ve kept hidden for years: him.

Thanos. The boy who left without a word, the boy with whom you shared the closest thing to a life you once dreamed of. The boy who left when you needed him the most. The boy who didn’t know you were going to be a mother.

The irony is that in this place where death seems to be the only thing that matters, what hurts the most isn’t the constant threat of the games. What hurts the most is that you’re here, surrounded by death, unable to let go of the past.

You’re in a group of players with Gi-Hun, speaking in hushed tones. You try to keep the conversation light, although you know no one can truly forget what happened in the first game. Gi-Hun wears a tired smile, one that doesn’t quite cover the distrust everyone now feels. But still, his presence gives you some comfort. For a moment, you can forget the nightmare and feel that, maybe, there’s still some humanity in this place.

“Seriously, I can’t believe we’re still alive,” says one of the players, his tone laced with bitter irony.

You nod, a bit more relaxed. “Yeah, it feels like we’re trapped in some kind of nightmare. Like this is just a bad dream.”

You don’t expect what happens next. A familiar voice, deep and grave, interrupts your conversation. The sound is like a punch to the stomach. You turn, recognizing it instantly.

“What... what are you doing here?” The voice escapes your lips almost without meaning to. You can’t believe it. There he is, standing in front of you, after all these years. Thanos.

He watches you, his eyes locked on you, as if time hadn’t passed. His presence freezes you, and your heart pounds in your chest. The shock is overwhelming. You don’t know if it’s fear or confusion that makes you hesitate, but the pain rises in your throat. Everything you’ve kept hidden, everything you’ve repressed, comes rushing back.

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds grave, concerned, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you feel uncomfortable, like he’s trying to understand something about you. “Are you okay?”

Gi-Hun, who had been watching curiously, looks surprised. “Do you know him?” he asks, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Yes,” you murmur, unable to look away from Thanos. You don’t know what else to say. The truth is, you don’t want to say anything. You don’t want him here.

Thanos takes a step forward, approaching slowly. You feel the space between you growing denser with each inch he closes. His gaze is still intense, but there’s something different about him. Something you don’t remember, something that makes you feel vulnerable. It hurts that he still looks at you like this, as if you still matter to him.

“I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have lost contact. Are you okay?” His voice is filled with regret, and for a moment, you wonder if he truly regrets it. But the doubt doesn’t last long. The truth is right there, floating between the two of you. He wasn’t there when you needed him the most, and now there’s nothing he can do to change that.

Your breathing becomes irregular. “No, I’m not okay,” you reply, though your voice sounds more broken than you expected. “And I won’t be. Not now.”

You can’t allow yourself to fall. You can’t allow yourself to be weak in front of him. You know what that would mean. The tears threaten to come, but you suppress them. You won’t show weakness.

Taking a step back, you try to keep your distance. You don’t want him to come closer. You can’t let him drag you back into that dark place from the past where the pain wouldn’t let you breathe.

Thanos stands still, as if unsure what to do with his hands. His eyes remain fixed on you, but it seems like all you can see on his face is confusion and regret.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, as if that’s the only thing he can say. His tone is soft, but his gaze is filled with a sadness that makes you want to run away. “I never knew... I never knew that...”

“Because you left,” you answer harshly, the words cutting through the air like knives. “Because you abandoned me. You didn’t give me a choice. And then, you didn’t look for me. You forgot about me, and you forgot about everything.”

Thanos hesitates for a moment, as if processing your words. “I... I didn’t know that...,” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“You didn’t have to know,” you say, your voice becoming firmer with the anger rising. “But now it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what happened, it doesn’t matter what it was. What I want now is something different.”

The silence between you both becomes heavy. The words you haven’t said, everything you’ve been holding inside, burn. You know this is the moment, the moment when things have to change.

Thanos steps toward you, his expression uncertain. The sadness on his face is obvious, but there’s something else: fear. Fear of losing you forever.

“I don’t want you to protect me just because of this,” you suddenly say, pointing to your belly, where his child still grows, though he doesn’t even know it’s his. “I want you to protect me because, after all this, I want you by my side for me, not for what I’m carrying inside.”

The honesty in your voice shakes him. Thanos falters, as if unsure how to respond. The sadness in his eyes deepens, but you also see him trying to understand what you just said.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally, his voice rough, as if every word costs him more than he expected. “I failed you. I didn’t know how to act, and... I’m so sorry.”

The words you just said have closed that door that was once open. There’s no place for him in your life anymore.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, almost without strength. “What hurts the most is that it doesn’t matter anymore. What hurts the most is that, even though you’re still here, I can’t be with you anymore.”

Those words are enough to break whatever little hope remained in your chest. Thanos can’t hide his pain, his sorrow is evident. But there’s nothing you can do. There’s no turning back now.

“If you don’t need me... I understand,” he says softly, almost defeated. “I failed you. And I never wanted it to be like this.”

Those words are enough to shatter what little was left of hope in your heart. You don’t look at him anymore. You can’t. The distance between you grows with every second that passes. You feel the emptiness that forms, the echo of what once was.

“Goodbye, Thanos,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s for the best for both of us.”

You turn away and start walking, feeling how everything you once wanted from him vanishes into the air. You know you’ve made the right decision, even though it feels like your heart is breaking. And as you walk, you know that, although the pain remains, the only way to move forward is to do it without him.

[suckunaa]

hate to be lame - hockey!satoru gojo x artist/influencer!reader

summary - you and satoru gojo have been best friends for years. you've also both spent years pining after each other on and off. when you like him he's wrapped up in a new relationship. when he admits to himself he has feelings for you, suddenly you're completely infatuated with the guy you just met at brunch. the timing never seems to be right and you're starting to think that just maybe, that's a sign that the two of you are better off as just friends.

chapter 3 - it's always on the tip of my tongue (masterlist) prev

word count: 6.3k

contains: f reader, crude language, a lil bit of fluff and a lil bit of angst 18+ only MDNI

it had been a couple of weeks since you had ditched gojo at brunch. you hadn't seen him since, though not for lack of trying on his part. you weren't even actually going out of your way to avoid him; his team had had three consecutive road games and you had a quickly approaching deadline for some art pieces a gallery had commissioned from you for one of their upcoming shows. you tended to turn into a hermit the closer you got to finishing pieces, wanting to devote every ounce of yourself to your craft.

satoru understood that, of course he did, but despite you insisting you were fine, he could tell you were still upset with him. your texts were infrequent and often emotionless, a far cry from your usual demeanor. he'd tried to see you immediately after he had realized you had left him behind at brunch, but mei mei had beat him to your apartment and wouldn't let him in. when he’d asked why she’d replied with “if you have to ask then you definitely don’t get to see her.”

the thing was, satoru was not actually an idiot. he might speak without thinking, say careless or stupid things to get a laugh, had a laid back demeanor the majority of the time - but he wasn’t an idiot. you leaving brunch in a huff was both a dream come true and a nightmare all at once. dream come true because the only logical conclusion he could come to was that you were mad about his run in with rumi because you reciprocated the feelings he secretly had for you. nightmare, because he knew how bad it had looked, the way rumi had held onto his arm, the kiss she had initiated.

he wasn’t actually sure what you had seen, for all he knew just seeing him and rumi breathing the same air might set you off - a thought he had only because seeing you that close to the guy you went on a date with last month would probably cause him to crash out. the only reason he didn’t feel that way when he saw you around choso was because he knew with absolute certainty that neither you nor his teammate were interested in the other.

but he didn’t want to have this conversation over text. he wanted it face to face, where neither of you could hide behind emojis and memes and more importantly, where he couldn’t chicken out. for as certain as he felt what you ditching him at brunch meant, there was still a part of him that was unsure. maybe the reason you’d gotten mad and left had nothing to do with rumi. maybe he’d said something that hadn’t initially bothered you but the more you thought about it, the more it pissed you off. or maybe the reason you’d gone home alone despite just having invited him over had nothing to do with him and maybe your distance from him the past two weeks also had nothing to do with him.

maybe.

but, satoru gojo wasn’t actually an idiot.

◎・v・●・v･○・v・◎・v・●・v･○・v・◎・v・●・v･○・v・◎

it wasn’t like this was the first time you’d gone more than two weeks without seeing satoru. hell, it wasn’t even entirely unusual. it was true that you both made an effort to hang out when your schedules allowed, but you were both entrenched in demanding careers that there had been times it simply hadn’t been possible to see each other.

but you had always been available to him emotionally even when physically you were kept apart. he’d complain about something and you’d sympathize and coddle him or you’d tell him he was being a baby and to suck it up. however, when he’d complained to you yesterday about feeling like his coach was riding his ass for no reason, all you’d said was “that sucks.” no words of advice, no witty quip, no offer to bring him his favorite ice cream - nothing.

you were starting to feel a little bad. kind of. after your disastrous brunch, mei mei had come over and you had been completely open and honest with her. your feelings for satoru (to which she had replied “yeah i know”), how you thought you two were on the same page, how you had invited him over because you wanted to a throw yourself at him, how you’d seen him with rumi.

you’d been embarrassed when you started crying; embarrassed because you knew mei mei was your one friend who had always clocked the fact that you had feelings for satoru and had never even pretended to believe you when you insisted otherwise. embarrassed because despite what you had seen with him and rumi, you couldn’t get it out of your head that he had been extra flirty and physically affectionate with you and all that made you wonder now is if you’d missed your chance by being too chicken shit to say anything to him before he had ever met her. embarrassed because despite that, your imagination had already run wild and convinced part of you that he was all but in love with rumi now.

embarrassed because you were crying over satoru fucking gojo.

he was your best friend. you knew his reputation for having a string of flings was based in reality, that the rumors of him being a fuckboy weren’t just rumors. you knew he’d never once said “i love you” to any of his past girlfriends, not even the one he’d dated for two years (his longest relationship). he had never once in all the years you had known him expressed interest in a serious relationship.

you two would be huddled up on your couch, watching a romcom and while you were waxing on poetically about how romantic the story was and how you wanted something like that, he’d be rolling his eyes and complaining that the whole movie was unrealistic and would never work out in real life.

you should have known better than to fall for your best friend.

but mei mei had let you cry that night, had coddled you and brushed your hair while you tried to watch a tv show to distract yourself. she had made sure you showered and ordered dinner while you did so, made sure your skincare routine was done after getting you in your coziest pair of pj’s, braided your hair for you while you watched a documentary on renaissance painters. she made sure you drank enough water (“have to replenish all those tears you just spilled” she’d joked but you knew she was looking out for you), got you into bed and turned on your favorite show to fall asleep to.

she had eventually gotten into bed next to you, stealing an old oversized shirt of yours to sleep in, and it had been comforting when you’d woken up from a nightmare about everyone you loved leaving you to turn around and see the familiar shape of mei mei’s back, her light snoring the only indication she was asleep (she was an incredibly still sleeper and that had always freaked you out just a bit).

and the next morning, you had woken up to find out that she had woken up before you, the smell of breakfast drawing you out of your room. she had let you eat and enjoy your coffee in relative silence, and when you had finished she had put her own mug of coffee down on the table and looked you straight in the eyes with a gaze that was hard to turn away from.

“you have to tell satoru how you feel.” you flinched at the bluntness of her words, shifted uncomfortably in your seat. when you didn’t say anything, she pressed on. “it’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to you. everything that happened yesterday was based on assumption.” she paused, head tilting to the side. “i mean, to me it’s clear as day that the two of you have feelings for each other. but neither of you have ever actually said it out loud to each other. you just finally admitted it to me last night even though i clocked that at least two years ago.”

she paused again, this time to take a sip of her coffee. “you don’t know what happened with rumi. you turned away before you actually saw them kiss - which i’m not blaming you for. he told you he barely knows her, if you really think he was reciprocating your actions and feelings yesterday, would he really be stupid enough to throw that all away for some chick he barely knows? and yes, i know we’re talking about gojo. that’s why i know how much he cares about you and values your relationship.”

more silence, you both sipping on coffee while you mull her words over. eventually you reply, looking away from her because you swore she was staring straight into your soul and you didn’t want to deal with the harsh reality of being seen. “you’ve never said any of this to me before, you know. you’ve just always tried to get me to admit to my feelings, but you’ve never really told me what you… observe on his end.”

because mei mei was an observer. that’s why your feelings for your best friend had been so obvious to her. she paid attention to details that most people barely noticed, was intelligent as all hell and could put together fragments of puzzle pieces others didn’t even know existed. she wasn’t afraid to question people, dig around to find the information she was looking for. and yet, she had never once told you that she thought satoru felt the same way, had never pushed you to admit your feelings and that it would be fine because it was obvious he felt the same way.

“look, i may love to scheme a little and stick my nose in everyone’s business, but i’m not cupid interfering in everyone’s love life.” you arched an eyebrow at her, her hands immediately flying up to say wait. “it doesn’t count if someone is cheating and i tell their partner to look into it, okay? but i thought if you ever finally told him how you feel, it should be because you were confident enough to do so, not because i forced you.”

another beat of silence. “and now?”

“i can’t watch one of the people i care the most about continually get hurt. that’s why you need to tell him. it’s either going to work out or it’s not, but do you really think you’ll get over him and not spend your life wondering what if if you never say anything and just try to push past your feelings?” you wished she didn’t make so much sense. part of you resented her for being so straightforward when all you wanted to do was keep playing pretend.

a long, drawn out sigh leaves your lips, followed by a groan before you put your head down on the table top and closed your eyes. you would have probably sat like that forever if you didn’t know that mei mei, stubborn and headstrong, would sit there for just as long until you decided to say something.

you didn’t though, not for a couple more minutes. and then finally, you picked your head up, shoulders sagging as you nodded. “fine. i’ll tell him. but… i just need to find the right time.” you thought your friends eyes were going to bug right out of her head, but you held up a hand before she could open her mouth. “i will do it, i promise. i just need to clear my head first, and i think we’re both pretty busy the next week or so.”

this seems to satiate mei mei, her face conceding as her features relaxed. she had then stood up and made her way behind you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders to hug you from behind. your hands lifted up to rest on her arms, giving her a gentle squeeze. “thank you, for… all of this. and taking care of me.”

mei mei pressed a kiss to the side of your head, smoothing your hair as she let go of you and stood up. she’d stayed for another half hour before leaving you alone. all you had wanted to do was have another day of wallowing in your feelings but you had pieces to work on, and working on them was the next best therapeutic thing for you.

and that was where you had spent most of the past two weeks, holed away in the little studio space you rented to work on your art in. you were currently sitting on a stool in front of an easel, eyes carefully studying the painting in front of you. it was almost finished - anyone else looking at it would have thought it already was.

but there was something you couldn’t place your finger on, something that left you feeling like it was unfinished. you couldn’t figure out what though, a frustrated sigh filling the room before you tore your gaze away, looking around the space that surrounded you. it was bright, full of large windows to give you natural light, messy in a way that made sense to you, plants because you liked taking care of them and they made the space feel all that more homey.

and then your eyes landed on a canvas propped up against one of the side walls. it was full of blues and purples, some sort of depiction of night time at the beach. that was what satoru had told you, at least. the last time he had visited you at your studio you had allowed him to have one singular canvas that he could do whatever he pleased with. this had caused him an endless amount of joy, and besides the fact it kept him out of your hair, it had made you happy to watch the childlike wonder radiate off him.

fuck.

it hit you then, that maybe the reason you couldn't figure out what was missing from the painting in front of you was the fact that you had left your relationship with satoru unfinished. he was still your best friend, you still wanted him to be in your life always, you still had deep rooted feelings for him, and you still hadn't told him yet. you did intend to keep your promise to mei mei, but every time you psyched yourself up to do it you found a way to talk yourself out of it.

you couldn't put it off any longer though, the strain on your friendship was eating away at you and maybe even more importantly, you fucking missed him. and so, you picked up your phone and texted first mei mei and then satoru. you weren't going to hide anymore.

"fuck, I know it's supposed to be cold but is it really supposed to be this cold?" mei mei pulled her black team coat over herself tightly as the two of you walked to your seats. she was also friends with a good amount of the team and had probably been to just as many games as you had - and she was right. the air in the arena felt a little more chill than normal, and you had started to think you were being oversensitive with the thought of talking to satoru afterwards. it was a relief, actually, when your friend voiced her complaint and you mentally scolded yourself; you had to get a grip.

"I'm gonna go and get us some coffee, I'm gonna be grumpy if I don't get some caffeine and warmth in me..." you nodded in response as mei mei walked off, leaving you to get settled into your seat alone (row one, because of course satoru made sure you had some of the best seats). you were earlier than you had meant to be, intending to show up a few minutes before the puck drop and instead, the players were just now taking to the ice for warm up.

and there he was, satoru gojo gliding gracefully on the ice. ever since you'd known him, you'd always loved to watch him play hockey. even in middle school, he'd been incredibly skilled already. laser fast and fearless, watching him had left you in awe. he had been your introduction to hockey, and when he found out you'd never even been ice skating before he had insisted on taking you to the ice rink to teach you.

you were pulled out of your thoughts when you noticed him raising a hand and waving at someone - no, waving at you. you gave him a wave back, a small smile curling at your lips instinctively. it didn't take long before fans were trying to get his attention and his focus was drawn away from you. what mattered to you in that moment was the fact that you had gotten his focus first.

you watched as the team participated in warm up drills, biting back a laugh as sukuna turned to yell at whoever accidentally hit him with a puck only to find it was yuji, the older brother's expression softening as he rolled his eyes and turned his focus back to what he was doing. you had always thought it was kind of sweet, the way sukuna, who was tough as nails always, softened up just a bit when it came to his younger brothers.

you were better friends with choso out of the three. choso who always seemed to look out for you in his own way, was always there to lend an ear when you needed one. unlike your relationship with gojo, the one you had with choso was rooted in purely platonic feelings. you suspected he knew of your feelings for satoru but unlike mei mei, he had never brought it up directly. instead giving advice that gently pushed you in the right direction without adding any pressure.

cho gave you a quick wave as he skated by, mei mei finally returning with two coffees, holding one out to you. you grabbed it greedily, taking a cautious sip and feeling your body relax as soon as you felt the warm liquid wash down. "know what I've always noticed when I come to games? especially when you're here." you turned your head to look at your friend as she sat down, her eyes trained on the scene in front of you: hockey fans standing around the glass to watch warm ups, some with signs asking for pucks, hopeful they might catch the attention of their favorite player.

she glanced at you and caught your raised eyebrow, smirking as her attention went back to the ice. "gojo almost always only goes to say hi to the kids trying to get his attention. all those wannabe hockey WAGs?" her chin gestured to a couple of pretty girls, dolled up and positioning themselves to get noticed. "he never gives them the time of day."

you shrug, trying to pretend you don't know what she's getting at. "unfair to characterize them as wannabe WAGs, pretty girls are hockey fans too." mei mei shoved your arm gently, eliciting a laugh from you as you grinned over at her. "alright you know what I was getting at you stubborn brat." you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, finishing off the rest of your coffee before settling back into your seat. "I know I know, thank you mei mei. let's just focus on the game for now or else i'm gonna lose my nerve."

besides the fact that you knew she would hold you accountable later about being honest with satoru about your feelings, mei mei was one of your favorite people to come to games with. she knew the game inside and out, was the first to yell at the refs when they made questionable calls and the first to cheer choso on when he dropped his gloves to fight a player on the other team who had made a questionable hit on megumi. she was passionate and it made watching games all the more fun for you, feeding off of her energy. it was actually what had finally gotten you to bother to actually learn most of the rules to the game so you also knew when refs made shitty calls (or when they let things go that they shouldn't have), though satoru had tried for years to get you to care about them.

the game ended eventually, a blowout that saw the final score 4-1 - satoru's team had won. they were fucking good, and you realized how much you had missed watching them play. it had probably only been a month since you had last been to a game, but you were making a mental note to try to come to them more regularly.

you and mei mei stayed in your seats even as the crowd started to clear out. the players were already off the ice, back in the locker room while a mix of after game interviews and showers happened. you typically would wait for satoru outside the locker rooms, but tonight as the arena grew quieter and quieter you found you kind of preferred this, the chill air and the muffled silence.

or maybe it was just you making it harder for satoru to find you when he was ready to leave, there was no real telling. even so, mei mei sat with you until he did find you, and only then did she get up. "i'm going to grab dinner with geto and some others, let me know if you need me."

you nodded before she left, giving satoru a curt nod before she made her way out of the arena. wordlessly, he moved to sit next to you. neither of you said anything, watching as the ice was cleaned in silence. eventually, you leaned your head over and rested it on his shoulder, your hand reaching out to take hold of one of his. instinctively, his own head rested on top of yours, squeezing your hand tightly like he was afraid to let go of it.

"I'm sorry." "i'm sorry."

you both said at the same time, causing him to let out a soft half-chuckle while you let out a deep sigh. you gave his hand a squeeze, shutting your eyes. "we need to talk but... we should probably go outside. I don't want to hold up everyone trying to clean and leave." he agreed and the two of you untangled from each other, gojo following you up the steps and eventually to the players exit. "I assume you drove?" you ask him and when he nods in confirmation, he leads you to his car. you get in, the familiar smell of leather and the air freshener he liked to use putting you a little more at ease.

he drives off, and you don't ask him where to. you think you know, and as soon as he pulls up to the park you two discovered five years ago you were proven correct. you and gojo had found this park one night when, after far too much sugar, he had insisted you go on a long walk through the city. you had stumbled on this park, hidden away in a quiet part but with the most lovely, well kept flowers.

you had instantly been infatuated with the place, and upon seeing how much your face had lit up when you saw all the different flower varieties, satoru had declared this park to be your place - yours and his. as a silent rule, neither of you ever brought anyone else here, though you had come here on your own several times when you wanted to be alone to think but didn’t want to be cooped up inside; he had done the same.

you wordlessly walk over to the swing set, sitting down on the left side like you always did while he took the right swing. you use your feet to sway back and forth a little, tempted to just start swinging fully to put off the conversation further. but before you can, satoru breaks the silence. “y/n, i’m in love with you.”

you blink, head snapping towards him immediately. “what?” you asked, disbelieving. in all the ways you had imagined this conversation going, satoru telling you he was in love with you right out the gate had never been on the table. “fuck, i didn’t mean to just say it like that,” he fumbled through his words. “i mean, i kind of did. i was planning on telling you tonight but like. i thought we’d have a long conversation first.”

he laughed, though you knew it was his nervous laugh, his face full of worry as you two looked at each other. you blinked at him a couple more times, the shock starting to fade, though your eyes were still wide and you wouldn’t have been surprised if your heart beat right out of your chest right then and now. “i… i’m in love with you, satoru. i was also planning on telling you tonight.” you paused for just the briefest of seconds, not giving him any sort of time to react.

"that's why I left you at brunch the other week, I was so fucking mad at you. I was very clearly hitting on you and I thought you were reciprocating because you were way more touchy than even you usually are and then you took too long coming back from the bathroom and I was starting to get worried and then I saw you with her satoru, I saw you with rumi." you paused, only to catch your breath, holding your hand up to stop him when he opened his mouth to reply - and to his credit, he shut his mouth immediately.

"you were standing so close to each other and that sounds so stupid to get jealous about but you'd already ditched going to the restaurant opening with me to go with her. because yes while we're confessing things, I was so fucking jealous you went with her. how the fuck did you just forget you and I had made plans? that really fucking hurt, actually. and then you had the audacity to be even a little jealous over me going with choso instead when in reality you should be thanking him because he was, in fact, the main reason I had a good fucking night. and don't start some bullshit about me and him, you know we're just friends. we're both a little too hung up on people who don't care about us."

you let out a choked, bitter laugh. holy shit, your heart was still racing at what couldn't possibly be a healthy rate, and the thought of this conversation going wrong still made you sick, but it also felt good - really fucking good - to get all of this off your chest.

"I know you and kamo are just friends don't worry," satoru interjected, your last words stinging him a little. hung up on people who don't care about you? he cared about you, probably a little too much. he opened his mouth again, this time to defend himself but you beat him too it, your ramblings not finished - now that you'd started you had to get it all out.

"so do you know how absolutely shitty it felt to see you and the woman you ditched me for standing so close, her hand holding on to your arm. and then I saw you kiss her! that's when I left, i clearly had misread what I thought your intentions were and I felt so fucking stupid. and mad. and upset. and hurt." you let out a long breath. "okay, now you may speak."

"jesus..." he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face. gojo could barely process the fact that you told him you were in love with him too. instead, all he could think was that what he had been worried about had been true: you were mad at him and you had seen him with rumi.

he was such an idiot. he should have put physical distance between him and her when she’d come up to him but the truth was, rumi didn’t mean anything to him. he barely knew her, and so as stupid as it sounded, he simply hadn’t thought anything about the fact that they were standing together so closely, that she had her hand on his arm.

he hadn’t been expecting her to kiss him. fuck, he didn't even know where to start. this wasn't the big romantic speech he'd thought he'd deliver, no instead everything felt like a total fucking disaster. he turned his head to you, reaching out a hand and felt slight relief as you reached back and allowed him to hold your hand.

"first, i'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry I ditched you to go to the opening with rumi. I felt like shit for doing that to you, it just honestly had slipped my mind." he stopped, shaking his head because his own words sounded pathetic to him. "it wasn't because I don't care about you or I take you for granted. she and I just ended up at the same party and i'd had a few drinks and she brought up going together and I agreed. kind of nice to find out you really were jealous though."

you narrowed your eyes and shot him a look and he widened his eyes, shaking his head again, this time in a panic. "no, no, no that came out wrong. it's just, shit y/n, i've had feelings for you for so long and anytime I came close to telling you, you'd introduce me to a new boyfriend or gush about this new guy you'd bet at a coffee shop. I've just never been sure if you ever saw me the same way."

god, he was royally fucking up, he could feel it. this was his big chance and he was ruining it - he genuinely wasn't sure why he had a reputation for being such a ladies man when he couldn't even get his thoughts out in the right way the one time it mattered the most.

but you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and he was just relieved that you hadn't dropped his hand immediately. and so he forced himself to press on. "as for brunch? I wanted to go back to your place so bad. I wanted to finally get to kiss you and tell you you're the most beautiful person i've ever met and not only that but the funniest and most patient, the person I feel the most comfortable around. she kissed me. and I know that sounds lame and i'm not trying to excuse it because as soon as I realized what she was doing I should have pulled away immediately. I left her awkwardly as soon as I could."

hadn't been soon enough, he knew now.

"the past two weeks have been killing me, petal. but I didn't want to push you too much, especially since mei mei wouldn't let me in when I tried to see you right after."

you didn't even know what to say. this was all you had ever wanted, to be able to be open and honest about how you feel and to find out that satoru felt the same way. but this was a lot, the revelation that he was in love with you marred by the whole situation with rumi.

"i've had feelings for you for a long time, toru. I just. I was scared to tell you, because I didn't think you felt the same way, and I didn't want to risk losing you." you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you tried to wipe them away with your free hand but it was already too late. "fuck."

"hey, hey, come here," satoru gently tugged at your hand as soon as he realized you were trying to not cry and you let him, standing up from the swing and moving towards him. he pulled you down into his lap, arms wrapping protectively around you as he held you to him, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.

"you can cry, petal, it's okay. this is... a lot." there was the best friend you knew, the one you had fallen for. underneath the cocky attitude, the easy grin that signaled to the world that he knew just how talented he was, the stupid jokes that made everyone roll their eyes, satoru gojo was one of the most thoughtful, caring people you had ever met. it wasn't obvious, in fact you knew he went out of his way to put out a persona that would suggest otherwise, but he was someone who was always thinking about other people.

countless times, you'd seen him go out of his way to help people that needed it, to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. though he had made fun of you and awful lot ever since you'd met him, he had never once made you feel bad for crying. the first time he'd caught you crying, you had been hiding out at the playground across the street from school, sobbing your eyes out because a couple of older kids had taken the art project you had worked so hard on and tore it to pieces. they had called you a try hard, and satoru?

he had found them and made them apologize.

and so the two of you sat on the swing, him in the actual seat and you still being held on his lap. you let the silence was over you, silent tears rolling down your face that eventually came to a stop, cheeks drying.

"i'm scared you losing you too, y'know." his confession soft, almost as if he was whispering some sort of prayer to himself. you'd heard him anyway, hands resting on top of his as he held you by the waist. "even if you felt the same way, we could always get together, break up, and never speak again."

it was sort of a relief, the fact that your relationship meant as much to him as it did to you, that he had denied himself the possibility of a chance with you in order to preserve the bond you shared. you weren't quite sure, though, where that left you. you had just told each other that you were in love with the other, and though you both felt significantly more at ease than you had since you'd last seen each other, it didn't exactly feel like a celebration either.

"what... what does this mean for us?" you questioned, hesitant and meek when you wanted to sound strong and sure. "it doesn't feel like jumping right into calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend is the right thing to do. if that was something you even ever wanted to do," you rushed quickly. even though you knew how he felt about you now, there was still a cloud of doubt you couldn't shove away.

just because he was in love with you didn't necessarily mean he wanted to be your boyfriend, right?

"i see i have a lot of reassuring to do..." he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "but i get what you mean." your heart sank a little at his words, even though he was merely agreeing with a sentiment you had voiced first.

"i don't want things to change how they are. like, i don't want us to get all weird around each other or anything. i want us to still be best friends." he hesitated, and you weren't sure if he was second guessing himself or just trying to find the right words to say.

"let me take you on a date. a proper one, not one of the million friend dates we've done." you turned your head up to look at him as soon as he had said "let me take you on a date," butterflies suddenly filling your stomach - you were pretty sure you were going to need at least two days to physically recover from the emotional roller coaster you were currently on.

you opened your mouth to reply before shutting it again. you wanted to ask satoru a million questions, to poke and prod until he admitted this was all a terrible joke. but instead of voicing any doubt and insecurity that tried to dominate your thoughts, you simply said "okay."

which brough a genuine smile to his lips before he leaned down and pressed another kiss to you, this time to your forehead.

eventually, he took you home. the two of you mixed filling each other in on what had been going on in both your lives for the past two weeks with talk about where you two stood now.

you had settled on this: nothing was changing between you two, except for the fact that you were both finally being honest about your feelings. satoru was going to take you on a date and, hopefully, keep taking you on dates until you both felt it was the right time for your relationship progress. neither of you had expressed the worry on your minds, the "if our relationship progresses." that was a worry for another day.

gojo had insisted on walking you up to your apartment door, leaving you with a goodnight kiss on the cheek. and now that you were home and alone, as you started your nighttime routine you started to accept that maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out.

a/n: i rambled a little too much but these fools (me) always have sm to say!! things are turning around for now for gojo and reader, but we'll see if it stays that way... any thoughts/comments are always appreciated!!

taglist: open @basicallyjeankirschtein @therealanxiety @angelina7890 @starmapz @raquel12 @kittyyyyykats

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Regretevator hcs with party noob, mozelle, infected and lampert with reader slouched over and have bags under their eyes but insists that they are fine but after talking for a bit reader admits that they havent slept well in a while bc folly keeps giving them bad nightmares?

Could maybe end in them comforting reader and in the end they actually have a good nap in the elevator with them ((angst to fluff my beloved)))

You mentioned wanting Bive added so I'll make sure she's on there!

.......

Party Noob

They're always in the mood to party, of course, but you often seem annoyed by their kazoo constantly going off.

If anything, your attitude towards them is almost comparable to Pest--except you don't say rude things. You're just..quiet and seem tired 24/7.

You always politely turn down Poob's invitations--which makes them sad, although they would never force you to attend any celebration--insisting you were okay.

The bags under your eyes, however, showed otherwise, as they were products of the sleepless nights you've had ever since Folly decided to invade your dreams.

Poob doesn't know this, though, and when you're both alone in the elevator, they finally ask why you never go to their parties, wanting to know what they could do to change your mind.

Then you reveal something surprising:

"It's not you or your parties, Poob. It's....her."

"Her?"

You finally elaborate on Folly and her torment. In the physical world, she knew your fears...and in these past few nightmares she dialed them all up to 11.

Your latest one involved Poob killing you with their horn for daring to show up at their party "uninvited", which horrified the party goer after you finished explaining.

"Wut?! That's not true! You r ALWAYS welcomed to mah parties, friend!! That lady is such a party poober." They frown. "Is that why ur afraid to go to one?"

"Yeah, I'm sorr....wait, you've seen her, too?"

"Yeh! Lotsa times! She always says I'm "special", but...that doesn't sound like a gud thing."

"...haha. No, it's not." You shake your head, finding relief that they could relate to you.

Folly claimed that Poob was repressing a lot of trauma, and their party obsession was just a distraction from something bigger. But obviously you weren't going to believe her.

After that conversation, they're willing to invite you to a chill party at their apartment. There's no crazy loud music. Just TV, video games, sweets, and the company of a friend.

Mozelle

"You don't look so well, dear."

Despite her demonic origins, Mozelle is very concerned for the well-being of her fellow elevator passengers (or at least those who respect her), so she could tell you were far from okay.

You keep insisting that you're tired from exploring so many floors, and for a while she seemed to believe you...

Until one day, she invites you to her castle for tea, and chastises you for lying to a princess.

"It's that abhorrent "dream parasite" that's been giving you nightmares, is it?" She huffs, realizing she was right as your expression changes.

Knowing that she's not gonna hear any more of your excuses, you finally admit that Folly is the reason for your exhaustion.

You try to avoid sleeping for fear of her appearing...and she's well aware of this, as in the physical world she vowed to never let you sleep again.

That terrified you, and Mozelle wanted to throw hands with her SO badly after that.

But instead, she tries working her magic to ensure you got a good night's rest in one of her guest quarter.....with the distant screams of the damned somehow not deterring you from drifting off.

When you awaken, she teleports you to her pet sanctuary, allowing you to help her take care of the odd and cute creatures, and even take another nap with them. 100% nightmare free.

For a "princess of hell", she was certainly acting like a guardian angel.

Unfortunately, she can't protect you 24/7. But if you're both in the elevator, she'll manifest some comfy pillows and blankets just for you (and her, bc she needs her beauty sleep, too!)

Infected

Similarly to you, sleep doesn't come easy for Infected..and it certainly doesn't stick with him for long.

As a gamer, of course, he just doesn't feel like he needs it.

So anytime he saw you come into the elevator, slouched and with dark bags under your eyes, he just assumes you're an "epic gamer" like him who lives by the "sleep is for the weak" mantra.

It's only when you started taking naps in a random corner of the elevator did he express concerns.

"Wh4t h4ppened, bro? G4me t00 hard last night?" He asks. "Trying t0 st4y 0n th4t grind???"

".....no, I was too scared to even leave my bed and go on the computer.."

"0h man, th4t sucks. Why were y0u sc4red? Did the b00geyman visit?"

"......."

"N0 way, did he?? I w4s 0nly kidding-"

"She." You correct, before telling Infected a little about the nightmares Folly has given you these past few days.

But you're sure he's gonna call you crazy or say you're having too much sugar..

However, he can actually relate to some of your bizarre dreams, not realizing you saw the same figure he did.

His virus made him often refuse sleep, but she had some influence in his decision to pull all-nighters, too.

He tried hugging you and while you're adamant about catching his sickness, you accept it for a few moments.

Next time you stop by his floor, he'll let you crash at his apartment to take a nap (but no promises that he's gonna keep quiet while gaming).

Lampert

"Are you getting enough sleep? You don't look too good. And you shouldn't be laying on the elevator floor. It's dirty."

Dude doesn't beat around the bush. He gets right to the point.

You get a little annoyed with his rants about germs so you kinda brush off his concerns and try getting whatever sleep you can (often drifting off while he's rambling)...

Until the one time you jolted awake after Folly made you endure a rather frightening nightmare--and Lampert's the only one in the elevator.

But at this point, he manages to piece things together.

"Oh..is it that annoying dream thing? I haven't seen her ugly face in a while..and I hope I never do again." He huffs. "Sorry you gotta put up with her, [y/n]."

"I've...been managing." You rub your eyes. "I'll admit, you've got guts back-sassing her when she could haunt your dreams at any time."

"Well she's really just pathetic. All that power and she's only interested in dreams? She can't even do anything in the real world. How dumb is that?"

"..it does sound pretty dumb."

"Yeah, she'll move on eventually. She left my bulb when my dreams got too boring for her."

Although that's all the "comfort" Lampert is willing to provide, it's enough for you to realize how ridiculous Folly's fixations on your dreams are.

Next time you're at the ROKEA floor, he'll let you take a nap on one of the couches, but if and only if you promise not to leave any crumbs (or drool) and clean it up before leaving.

Bive

"You see them too, don't you????!!!"

"Wha...?"

"The crimson eyes! What else could I be talking about?" Bive stares at you, the exhaustion on your face being apparent to her.

She's noticed it for a while, in fact, but every time you'd just ignore her wild rants and "conspiracy theories".

Taking naps in the elevator wasn't really an option when she was there, as her staring was uncomfortable and her constant needs to chatter/mumble to herself often kept you awake.

She's offered you coffee in the past, assuming you wanted to stay awake, only to stop after you told her that's the opposite of what you wanted.

After she mentioned "crimson eyes", that's when you realized she was aware of them, too. And aware of her.

When you decide to finally confide in her about your nightmares, Bive shudders and talks about having similar ones, but lately they've stopped...which she hopes is a good thing.

You learn she's terrified of going back to some placed called "The Lab"--likely where she was born--as Folly taunted her about that in the past.

Now you understand her attitude and mannerisms a bit more.

After talking, you feel slightly better, and you try to rest on the elevator floor-

Only for Bive to warn you about the "microscopic dust bunnies who don't like their space being impeded upon".

Will she stop you if you ignore her and fall asleep anyways? No. But she'll make sure nobody disturbs you.

Not that she'll ever tell you she's been keeping guard.

[intrepidacious]

time after time [8]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.3k

chapter warnings: Angsty with a capital A; suicidal ideation and attempted suicide (within the context of ending a time loop); finally, some big conversations are being had. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i wasn't sure whether i really wanted to post this one tonight, but you know what? i've missed this story. so here you go.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

eight: edge of tomorrow

On the good days, life at the Compound felt like a dream.

The world was a mess, but you’d found your own little corner in it, and despite the long hours and the high pressure, you felt happy for the first time in ages. Trusting others did wonders for your confidence.

In turn, you felt like you had a good grip on your powers most of the time now.

Natasha was the one who helped you focus them the most. She seemed to understand something about them that you had never considered yourself, and the more you trained together, the more balanced you felt.

Your reaction time shortened. Your reflexes grew more instinctual, your fighting movements smoothened. It was a slow process, arduous and mostly the opposite of fun; learning that you were of no use to anyone when you were through all the resets you could manage had been one of the hardest lessons so far, especially since you could never predict when you’d reach that point.

But despite all that, you felt yourself getting better. Stronger, too. And almost never fainting after overextending yourself anymore.

You’d always had lots of time, but now, you also had people you cared about. It was a new thing again, a strange feeling, but good.

You’d do almost anything to keep it.

Most nights, you went to bed with a smile, but it vanished some time after you fell asleep.

Usually, your nightmares looked like this: You were walking through a bright void, and as you walked on, you realized you were surrounded by mirrors, an endless labyrinth of them. Each of your mirror selfs was turning a different direction as you walked, seemingly aimless, all of them chattering to themselves or each other, words you couldn't quite understand growing louder and louder until you were surrounded by a whirlwind of noise that shook you ever which way until you didn’t know up from down anymore.

None of you seemed to have any idea where you were trying to go, and slowly, your breaths grew more panicked as you realized that you still felt a presence, somewhere above you; something malicious.

And you felt it steering you like you were its lost little puppet on a string, around and around, until you felt the heat of flames licking at your skin and your world set on fire, the mirrors splintering into a million pieces.

You were aware that you should be in pain, but your mind was only set on dread, twisting its icy fingers into your heart and pulling. There was no space to feel hurt; this was a twisted torture chamber crafted from fear and living from fear and allowing nothing else but fear.

When you woke up, you’d be drenched in sweat and hollowed out, your throat sore even though you couldn’t remember screaming. Hell was an endless, empty place, and when you sat up in bed in the middle of the night, you’d have to give yourself a couple of minutes before you got out of bed on shaky legs and snuck outside.

You had been living at the Compound long enough you knew how to slip past super soldier ears and spy instincts unnoticed. The hallway seemed even emptier than usual at this time, almost like it had been crafted from another nightmare.

This one was dark, though, soft and gentle, so maybe it wasn’t as bad.

When the doors finally opened, you gulped down a greedy breath of fresh air, reality finally settling into you again. You sat down on the front stairs, wrapped your arms around your knees and looked at the sky.

It was cloudy, but every now and then, you could see the stars peeking through. It soothed your heart and made it feel sore at the same time.

You heard the door open behind you, but you didn’t turn your head. Light steps approached you, legs crossing next to where you were sitting, and half of a heavy blanket was wrapped around your shoulders.

"You’re like a living ice block," Natasha complained quietly as she bumped into your side.

You chuckled quietly, wriggling your naked toes. "Why are you up?"

"You’re not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Sorry," you said, tilting your head to the side so she could rest her head on your shoulder. "Did I wake you?"

"It’s alright," she yawned. "It was either you or Steve’s snoring."

The man did sleep like a locomotive. Neither of you were going to say anything about it, though. It was nice to hear he finally got some sleep again at all. Even if he might as well have put FRIDAY up to make an announcement.

You were nearing the fourth anniversary of the Snap. That fact alone was hard on all of you, but you felt guilty for another reason.

"Nat?" you said, and she hummed. "You know, my life’s been a lot better since … since I got here."

That wasn’t what you were going to say initially, but the truth felt too selfish. Too unfair. What did your happiness mean in the face of half the universe disappearing?

"You’re sweet," she mumbled, but you didn’t feel that way at all. What you felt was a harsh knot in your stomach at all times, because how was it you had spent the last couple of years? You’d found a new family. You’d laughed more times than you could count, found purpose in your powers again, learned to take up a space you considered your own, free of the burdens of anyone else’s rules or commands.

The only thing still haunting you were your dreams, and even they were easy to forget when you were awake. It didn’t seem right. How come you got to be so lucky in the face of all this tragedy?

"Nightmare again?" Natasha asked quietly.

"Yeah," you answered, staring out at the black lake. "You?"

"Yup." She sighed and stretched out her arms. "Wanna go get donuts for breakfast?"

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. "That’s the best idea you’ve had all week."

"That’s hurtful. It’s Friday."

"I said what I said."

It all felt too good to be true, and you knew it.

When was the second shoe going to drop?

* * * * *

"In other fun news," you tell Bucky as you are sitting cross-legged in the astral plane, on the edge of the bed he isn’t using, "apparently we have been underestimating our delivery guy."

He frowns in his sleep and you chuckle at the timeliness of it. Alpine whines at you.

"I know," you tell her earnestly. "Haven’t I always said that the wizard guys are bad news?"

You roll your eyes, continuing to flick through the pages of one of the ancient tomes that have come to live on the right side of Bucky’s bed. Ever since Strange’s disappearance, you’ve fallen into a new sort of routine, coming in here to conduct your research and feel at least a little less alone.

Even if you’re just fooling yourself.

Despite your best efforts, Alpine has proven not to be much of a conversationalist or particularly interested in magical theory. She’s mostly taken to flopping down on the bed next to you and falling soundly asleep as soon as the pretty green lights twinkling on your fingertips have ceased to be interesting. Honestly, you’re jealous.

"Anyway," you continue, uncapping your pen. "I feel like I’m on the right track, but I still can’t figure out why the last try didn’t do anything."

According to everything you’ve read, it makes no sense for a reaction of that impact not to have made any sort of dent on the loop. It’s possible that it simply is a case of a slower, gradual deterioration of its structure, but you’ve been stuck here far too long already. You are sick of waiting.

The fact that you’re only making tediously slow progress on your reading doesn’t exactly help either; but these grimoires are just so boring. You don’t understand half of the things written in them, and the rest of the time you have to literally catch the sentences before they are trying to slip away from you onto the next page.

Frankly, being a wizard full-time must be exhausting.

You’re not about to pity Strange of all people, though, especially not when a drawing of the time stone catches your eye before the ink has a chance to fade away. Quickly, you snap your fingers and create the tiniest of orbs on the tip of your thumb, leaning over the book.

In the emerald light, the illustration stays where it’s supposed to be, even though the lines blur a little in protest underneath your translucent hands. The words surrounding the stone appear to describe some sort of ritual, requiring all kinds of horrible-sounding ingredients and complicated incantations as well as—

You jerk the book away from you so violently it falls on the floor, missing Bucky’s head by a hair’s breadth. Alpine flinches, hissing miserably at the intrusion.

Bad news might have still been an understatement, you think as you try to breathe calmly again. This was a brush from the past you do not appreciate. Not at all.

"I don’t know how much longer I can do this," you say, hiding your face in your hands. "Maybe this reality is just doomed to collapse and I have to accept that."

Something soft bumps through your elbow and you sigh. Alpine has been uncharacteristically affectionate with you ever since you started seeing her in the astral dimension. Her eyes are somber when you look at her, as if in reaction to your distress.

"I’m quite a mess, huh?" you murmur, and she doesn’t even attempt to scratch you when you pat her head. She purrs quietly.

One glance at the alarm clock tells you it won’t be long until Bucky gets up. Those last couple of minutes before he wakes are the worst for him, muscles twitching with the visions his nightmares are putting him through. You wish you could make it any easier on him, but there’s nothing you can do.

"I think your dad was tagging the other day," you tell the cat.

Of all the recent tiny changes in the loop, the absolute worst ones are what you’ve dubbed the TAGs—temporary awareness glitches.

They never last more than a couple of minutes, but that doesn’t make them any less painful. Hearing the words, "Haven’t we done this before?" from a random stranger at a crossing made you almost topple over the first time. Then, there are the murmured "I think I’m going crazy"s and "It’s just a dream"s when you pass people in the street; not every day, and never the same person twice, but still more often than you’d like.

The whole part with a certain Peter Parker telling you that he knows all of you and you’ve simply forgotten him because of sorcery—only for him to not recall any of it the next time he delivers food to your doorstep—doesn’t exactly help this maddening situation, especially not when Sam squints at you in the ring one morning and says, "Something’s weird."

He’s forgotten about it all again by the time he gets out of the shower, and fuck, you think you might be going green with envy.

It’s the TAGs that make you double down on your studies, because even more than unexplained celestial phenomena and little time skips here and there, they seem like a pretty tell-tale sign that your universe isn’t holding up so well.

You keep scratching Alpine’s head with one hand while picking up the book from the floor with the other, suppressing a shudder going up your spine as you flip the page over.

You manage to scrape together a couple of measly notes on energy flow and general power recovery, which you then copy to your own sleeping body’s naked arms before bringing yourself back into the present. The notes are still there in this reality, and if you touched your skin, the ink would smear. It’s a mystery to you how the timing of it all works out, but it’s not one you’re going to waste your time and focus on.

Especially not because it’s already way later than you usually wake up.

Cursing, you stumble to your feet, slipping out of your loungewear and pulling on your combat suit. This is usually how it goes these days, with you telling Sam through the door that you need "just a couple more minutes" while already being fully dressed, letting yourself catch your breath and shut off your mind for the mission to come.

You’ve been doing this too damn long.

With a last tug at your gloves to make sure that your rings aren’t getting stuck, you flop down on the edge of your unmade bed, ready for the knock to come.

Except … it doesn’t.

You keep looking at the clock with a frown, as if that would change the fact that it’s almost five now and the hallway stays silent. At 5:04, you risk a look outside despite your get-up. Everything is dead quiet, even though you normally leave in precisely seven minutes and Bucky is notoriously noisy when doing his final weapons check.

"Guys?" you call out hesitantly. No one answers.

When you make your way downstairs, the shield is no longer leaning against the kitchen cabinets, and there’s an empty spot on the shelf where Bucky keeps his combat boots.

You have a terrible feeling about this.

Your hands are starting to get clammy, so you pull the gloves off impatiently, dropping them on the couch table. This time, when you look at your phone, there’s a new message.

Cap 🫡: New lead re lab. Taking J and the grump, u rest up!

You turn and run back upstairs.

At the end of the top floor hallway, there’s a narrow metal staircase leading to the private roof. It’s not very interesting; the space is cramped due to the solar panels that power the last remaining quinjet in the small hangar. Most plants you’ve tried growing up there have long since died, the wind relentlessly tearing at hair and vines alike. The latch is kept closed at all times unless someone is up there.

It’s open now.

When you burst outside, you’re still hoping against all odds. Expecting the jet gearing up for take-off, or Bucky and Sam loading the supplies into the back, looking at you oddly, the exhausted "did you jump again" look on their faces.

But there’s nothing there, not even a dark spec of the craft in sight against the beautiful sunset.

They’re long gone.

* * *

You don’t know what to do.

You can feel yourself spiraling, your heart racing as you stumble back down the narrow stairs, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to fix this.

This isn’t just a small, inconsequential glitch like all the others have been; this is a shift in the narrative of the entire day. If you’re not with them during that mission, all kinds of things could happen. Maybe the white jacket from that very first time gets him again, or maybe Riff finds a new target for their knives, or maybe …

Or maybe it means Bucky will live.

Maybe that’s the possibility you’ve never dared to consider; that you might have to take yourself out of the picture entirely for him to have a fighting chance. Give up what little control over the situation you have left and let them try to get through this without you.

It’s not like we haven’t done this sort of thing before.

Your feet find their way to Bucky’s room faster than you can consciously catch up with them, and even though you expect it to be locked, the door swings open easily.

The astral plane couldn’t have prepared you for this: it smells like him in here. Warm and safe, just like you remember his embrace. The way the room feels to you is a vast contrast to the way it looks; the walls are even paler when they’re not warping around the edge of your vision, Bucky’s absence emphasized by the fact that he hasn’t put his mark on anything in here at all.

There’s a cat-shaped indent on the right side of the bed, and a couple of white hairs on the carpet. Even Alpine is gone, though. The whole apartment is uncannily quiet, in a way it’s never been on this particular Friday.

It’s almost like it used to be before anyone but you lived here, and you hate it.

You sit down on the floor next to the bed and lean your head back until it touches the bedding, hands twitching for your phone. There’s never been a reason for you to call him before; you’ve mostly had one-sided text conversations about picking up dinner and taking out the trash. You’re not even sure what you’d want to tell him. Don’t die without me?

This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t even try.

There’s a clicking sound when he picks up, and then more silence. Breathing. You can hear your own heartbeat rushing through your head.

Five seconds pass, ten, maybe more. Neither of you says anything, as if both of you have run out of things to say long ago. Maybe there’s nothing left to say today.

"Please come home."

The word seems unfamiliar on your tongue, but it’s never sounded more true. Despite time repeating endlessly, despite the empty walls and untold truths. Home.

There’s an admission hidden inside its four letters that feels, to you at least, a little like removing the mask you’ve been wearing, even though there’s no one here to see, even though he won’t get it.

You can hear Bucky exhale slowly, almost like a sigh, and then he hangs up. You throw your phone across the room, watch it break as it skitters across the floor, and then you cover your eyes and you hope.

What an ill-placed sentiment.

Your head is jolted forward and you sit up in bed with the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and you don’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. Minutes pass, days, weeks. It’s still July 4th. The green band of symbols is still slowly winding across your wrist.

Not going with them didn’t change a damn thing about his situation, and now you’re going to have to pretend all over agai—

There’s a pounding at the door, but before you can call out to Sam like you always do, you hear a different voice from the hall. "Open up."

You stumble out of bed, more falling over than walking to open the door. Bucky is standing on the other side, his chest heaving, blue eyes refusing to meet yours but narrowing at the sight of you. Alive.

Again.

The shock of it is enough to make you huff. It makes something flicker in his eye, but you can’t make any sense of it. Your heartbeat is way too loud to focus on anything at all, anything but the sweat on his brow and the harsh tick in his jaw, his teeth grinding so hard it must hurt.

"What the fuck," he says quietly, and your hand flies to your arm. It’s still covered in smudged pen markings, barely hidden by the shirt you wake up in.

"What?" you say, trying to sound normal. You miss normal.

Bucky’s hand tightens around your doorframe.

"I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I want you to stop." His voice is low, dangerously low. You can’t tell whether he’s furious or sad or disgusted or in pain; the wall has closed up over his emotions and he is as unreadable as ever.

Tell me.

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice cracking a little.

"For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you know exactly that I keep dying," Bucky says, finally looking at you. You stop breathing. "You know it shouldn’t be Friday anymore, but it is, over and over again, and I know it’s because of you. You’re the one doing this."

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

You’ve really thought it couldn’t get any worse than the short glimpses of awareness you’ve seen people go through recently; it couldn’t possibly get any worse than being witness to Bucky’s death every single day for weeks. But this—this is different.

That look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and it doesn’t feel like a glitch.

He moves towards you and you involuntarily take a half-step back, your fingers twitching uselessly at your sides. For a moment, something vulnerable flashes on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by that unreadable wall.

You barely even notice yourself shaking your head. "It wasn’t—Bucky, I didn’t mean to—"

"Then what is that?"

He’s staring at your wrist now—no. At the green symbols dancing around your wrist.

Only now does it occur to you that you haven’t done anything to camouflage them.

"Nothing," you say reflexively.

"Bullshit." He catches your arm before you can hide it behind your back, his fingers closing tightly around it. The emerald runes reflect dimly in his eyes, giving them an odd shine. "What is that?"

"It’s a time loop," you say quietly. "The one we’re both stuck in."

Neither of you moves, the truth hanging between you as sharp and painful as a knife. You want to reach out, cup his face in your hands and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But you’re frozen to the spot in your doorway, and you can’t lie to Bucky Barnes.

"What did it?"

Of all the questions you’ve come to expect from previous times you’ve told him, this isn’t one of them. "What do you mean, what did it?"

"Well, something must’ve set you off. Or do you regularly decide to kill people repeatedly and you’ve only just gotten to me?" He drags a hand across his face. "God, I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid."

You’re sure Bucky must feel your blood boiling through your pulse point. "Is that what you think of me? Do you think this is—what, this is fun for me? This is my idea of a holiday special?"

"If you asked me on Thursday, I’d’ve said no, but weirdly enough, I’m not so sure anymore now."

He might as well have cut you in two.

"Wow." You snatch your arm out of his grasp, ignoring how your wrist gives a painful throb. "You know, Barnes, I know you hated me when we first met but I thought we’d moved past that in the last few months. Good to see that you still think so little of me you’d have me be capable of being that cruel."

"Then tell me I’m wrong." You hate the way he yells it, almost like a plea. Almost like a prayer. It makes you want to curl up into a ball and scream. "Tell me you don’t have any clue what’s happening here or why, and that this has nothing to do with you and me."

You want to lie. You want to lie, you want to take it all back, you want to get out of this day.

Useless.

"I can’t," you whisper, and you try conveying all the things you’re not saying through your eyes, because there’s too much to say and you don’t know where to start. It’s not enough.

A slow nod washes his features with ice. "I thought so."

You feel a bout of panic rising up. "No, Bucky, please let me explain—"

"No, I am done with this. Do you hear me? I want you to make it stop. Now. Today. And until then …" He drags a hand through his hair, his jaw locking again. "Just—stay away from me."

Your throat is constricting, his name barely making its way over your lips before he’s gone, his fists still clenched tightly. There’s a hand-shaped dent in the metal frame of your doorway.

"Okay, would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

You manage to shut the door in Sam’s face and lock it before your knees give in.

* * *

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes. Everything is so quiet around you that at first, you think the world must have stopped around you, blissfully holding its breath just for you.

Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe your powers are finally returning.

But when you open your eyes, there’s no mistaking the warped shapes and colors around you, and despite everything else, the letdown still tugs at your heart.

Still not good enough.

These past couple of times, with Strange gone, you’ve almost started to appreciate the weird quietude of this place; the blurred colors and washed out edges that distinguished this reality so much from your own started to look almost beautiful. It’s a space nearly out of time, just as much caught in liminality as yourself, but in a slower, much more refined way.

There’s something calming about existing somewhere far, far removed from your actual life with nothing and no one but a cat to disturb you.

It doesn’t feel like this today.

Today, everything has been heightened to look too sharp, too kaleidoscopically technicolor. The air feels thinner without your physical lungs processing it first, and you gasp so much you send yourself into a coughing fit.

Your sleeping body’s eyebrow twitches. She doesn’t know shit yet.

But Bucky does.

There’s no way this is the same as some of the TAGs you’ve encountered before. None of those lasted longer than a few moments, as far as you could tell, and absolutely none of those people came to any logical conclusions about your involvement with the creation of the loop itself. No, this is something different, something huge, something …

Shit.

It must’ve happened when you tried to change the loop. It must have reset it in a way, made him aware like you, except he’s the one who’s actually dying every day and—

For fuck’s sake, it’s been days. Days, and he’s only coming to you now.

I am sick of you pretending to fix stuff.

He doesn’t look any different in his sleep, and yet you don’t feel any of the usual calm looking at him. Something cold and sharp has taken a hold of your insides, gripping them tight.

You swallow down your nausea and grab the first book from the pile, blindly thumbing through it as you recall exactly where you went wrong during your attempt to dissolve the loop. Your mother always used to tell you to be careful what you wished for; clearly, the lesson still hasn’t sunk in.

This isn’t what you wanted.

You blink through the blurriness and catch part of an illustration just before it bleeds through to the other side; something green and gold and repulsively familiar. You quickly turn the page before the drawing evades you completely.

The Eye of Agamotto stares at you menacingly, and something in your stomach churns.

The remainder of the page is covered in the same small, slanted handwriting you’re already familiar with, spiraling around the Eye in its center at a leisurely pace that speeds up when it notices your attention; you hate spell books so much.

Part of the passage stands out to you, anyway, like something big and ugly and exactly what you’ve been looking for.

"… deliberately loop segments of time through the formation of a literal energy loop over the wielder’s wrist. Upon the wielder’s death, the timeline will …"

The words drip off the edge of the page before you can take in the rest of the sentence, and when you flip it over, they’re gone. They refuse to reappear, no matter how many times you flip back and forth.

The timeline will what? Move on? Repeat anyway? Disintegrate?

You groan frustratedly, throwing the book across the room as a rush of power floods through you, making your hands flare up. You push the useless green light away from you, and a ball of it forms in the center of the room, bathing everything in an eerie emerald shine.

Something very heavy settles in your chest; the knowledge of what might well be the only way out of this loop, after all. The one possibility you haven’t really allowed yourself to consider because you promised not to do anything stupid and this would be stupid, probably.

And you’re afraid.

It’s ironic, really; you’ve been trying to find a solution for so long at this point, and now you don’t like the one you’re presented with. You’re selfish, after all, and you don’t want to die. You’re terrified of it, just like you are of all the things that you have no control over.

But is it worth more than Bucky’s life?

If there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that he’ll make it out of this, that he won’t have to go through this anymore once you’ve left the picture, shouldn’t you do it anyway?

I want you to make it stop.

"Bucky …" you start, trailing off just as soon as you take a closer look of his face again. That familiar frown, and that light smattering of freckles on his cheekbones.

There’s nothing you could tell him here, anyway. This reality doesn’t help anyone; it’s as inconsequential as your actions so far.

You wake on the floor of your bedroom on the last July 4th and for once, there’s no blood on the bed. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do next. You don’t know how to do it. Your gun is kept in the safe, and you’re not sure your hands wouldn’t be shaking too much, anyway; plus, you don’t want to leave any more of a mess than you already have.

You sit up slowly, staring out of the window. "FRIDAY?" you say hoarsely. The A.I. jingles to life pleasantly. "How high up would you say we are?"

"You are on the 92nd floor, or about one thousand, one hundred and twelve feet above ground."

"That should do it," you mumble. You’re feeling very light-headed somehow.

This would either work to end the loop, or you’ll wake up on Friday the same way you always do. Either way, Bucky doesn’t have to die again. The more you think about it, the more sense it makes. Why on earth you haven’t thought about this for longer than two seconds before is beyond you, really.

It has to work. You’re the one who inadvertently created the loop, and you’re the one maintaining it. Take out the head, and the whole thing goes down. Right?

It feels strange to pull your door closed behind you, not knowing if you’ll be back after this. You wonder if you should leave something behind, just in case. For Sam, maybe. Bucky will put it together, anyway.

Don’t do anything stupid.

You push the memory of his voice away. That was a different, long-gone version of him, one that didn’t really understand what was going on in the first place. One that was wrong.

Something whines at your feet. Alpine tilts her head at you when you bend down to pet her behind the ears, letting out a little sigh. Her fur is so soft.

She indulges you for a moment longer, and then she sinks her claws into your shin.

You yelp, staggering a half-step back and instinctively pressing a hand to the scratches, eyes stinging at the burn. Alpine looks at you haughtily.

"You really are a hellcat," you mumble. "And here I thought you were starting to like me."

You’ve never seen a cat stare at anyone so disapprovingly, but somehow, she manages.

* * *

One thousand-odd feet looks even higher than it sounds. You can barely see the people on the streets all the way down, barely hear the sound of traffic over the wind and your own rushing pulse.

There’s a certain kind of calm that comes with the clarity you’re experiencing.

You don’t want to do it; of course you don’t. But even apart from your determination to save Bucky, the thought of it is somehow … tempting. You’re so tired. Everything stays unchanged, no matter what you do, and you just want it all to stop.

Your hands are clammy around the railing. The midday sun is absolutely merciless, and for a moment you wish you’d changed out of your sleep things into something else. What would be the point of that, though?

It would just take a couple of seconds, at most. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out from fright before you hit the ground.

Your naked toes inch closer to the ledge.

You’ve never been scared of heights, but usually you’re not planning to fall. You lean over a little more, forcing your fingers to let go, one by one.

Right hand. You tuck your necklace under your collar. Maybe you should’ve taken it off. Slowly, carefully, your grip loosens completely.

"What in the—"

You flinch, and you let go.

This is it, you think, closing your eyes shut as you lose your balance, it’s actually happening.

Things slow down again; there’s a split second of regret panging through your heart, followed by a surge of something through your lungs, something you haven’t felt in this reality for quite some time, and then—

A painful jolt goes through your entire body and you yelp as someone grabs your hand and you are hauled back onto the roof, your hip slamming into the railing.

You stumble into him, making a desperate sobbing sound as your knees buckle for the second time today.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

There’s a raw edge to Bucky’s voice that only your fucked-up brain could come up with. He’s still pulling you into him tightly, his arms like a life raft around you.

"Let go of me."

"I can’t."

"Bucky, if I die before we go on that mission then you won’t have to. Either it’ll reset or the loop will be over."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? You said it yourself, you know—you know this is my fault. I have to fix this."

"Not like this." You can feel his heart thundering in his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer. "Never—not like this."

So you cry.

You both sink to the floor of the roof and you cry and you sob and you curse in Bucky’s arms for the second time because it simply isn’t fair.

"I don’t know what else to do." You take a shuddering breath. "Maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here. Maybe I’m just doomed to make everything worse forever. Maybe the only way to get out of this mess is to take me out of the equation."

"You’re wrong." Bucky exhales onto your neck.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do. We’ll find another way." He swallows heavily. You can feel it, just like you can feel his thunderous heartbeat. "I—I’m so sorry."

"Why the hell would you be sorry?" you say quietly.

"Because this isn’t what I meant."

"I know. Do you think I haven’t tried? To stop this?" You hiccup. "I’ve been trying to do that for weeks."

He stiffens. "How long have you been stuck here?"

Wordlessly, you pull up the leg of your pants a little to reveal the tally marks you’ve been making; one for each loop.

Bucky just stares for a very long time, long enough for you to start squirming under his gaze. When he finally does speak again, his voice cracks at the seams. "Please tell me you’re joking."

"Why, are you going to laugh?" You miss his laugh. But how could you tell him that?

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his thumb ghosts over your skin as if he’s trying to count the days he’s missed. His other arm tightens slightly around you when he finally averts his eyes.

"I know, right?" you almost laugh, but it’s so nice not to pretend anymore, even though everything hurts and you hate him seeing you like this, but you don’t hate it as much as you used to. And you just can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

You still can’t bring yourself to move away from his touch, either. He might have to pry you off him at some point, as soon as he’s done feeling bad for and indulging you.

"Why did you come up here, anyway?" you ask at some point when your breaths have finally calmed again under his fingers soothingly rubbing circles into your back. Your thigh.

Bucky’s hum is like goosebumps down your spine. "I was on my way to find you. Alpine sat on the top stair and kept screaming her lungs out."

"Oh," you exhale. You rub your cheeks, slowly, contemplatively. "I’m sorry, Buck."

"You don’t have to apologize—"

"Not just for …" You nod your head at the ledge, cringing. "I mean, I am—I didn’t think you’d be …" There? Shocked? Giving a damn?

"You scared the shit out of me," Bucky says quietly.

And you don’t know how to respond to that. You can’t look at him, can’t find the right words because suddenly they all taste wrong in your mouth, too overwhelming or and too small at the same time.

I’m scared for you all the time, you think.

Finally, you settle on, "I’m sorry I got you stuck in here." It doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re trying to say, but it’ll have to do for now.

He shifts in front of you, and you realize that his shirt is basically soaked through. Between the sun burning down on the roof and you sitting so close to him you’re basically in his lap, he must be unbearably uncomfortable.

So you swallow heavily, and you retreat a little, your eyes downcast. "I’m okay now," you mumble. "You don’t have to keep touching me."

It seems like Bucky hesitates for a moment before he pulls back completely. "Right."

He gets to his feet again and your heart tugs uncomfortably, but then he reaches out his hand to you. You stare at it for a second before taking it. The metal has warmed slightly, but it’s still cool to the touch. Cool and familiar.

He lets go of you almost immediately to glance at his watch. "We should probably get downstairs. Sam’s gonna start looking for us."

"Stay," you whisper, before you think about it, before you can try not to sound so damn desperate. "Stay here, just this once. Please."

You meet his gaze again. There’s something different in his eyes now, something other than the pain and the pent up anger you’ve seen earlier, softer and more focused at the same time.

There’s a pause.

"Let’s go downstairs," Bucky says, that determined tick in his jaw returning. It makes your heart sink.

"Bucky—"

"If I’m not going, you’re not going," he interrupts before you can finish your protest. "But Sam’s gotta know. And you have to come downstairs with me."

You blink at him as something unfolds in your chest. "Okay."

* * *

By the time the sun starts to set, your head is aching almost as badly as the bruises on your side.

Honesty, as it turns out, is surprisingly exhausting, especially after you’ve spent all this time keeping your cards to yourself. It takes a long time to untangle the web of near-identical days that you’ve accumulated, to explain the mess of notes and references scattered on your skin. All the things that have happened, the research you’ve conducted, the different attempts you’ve tried to stop this day from ending how it always does, it all comes out in a blurt and terrible diagrams.

It’s familiar, in a way. You’ve done this dozens of times, after all, with Sam pacing and Bucky staring and your coffee getting cold on the living room table.

Only now, there’s a kernel of hope mixed into the same old sense of underlying dread. Perhaps, it whispers, this could be the last time you’re recounting all of this. Perhaps there is a way out for both of you, now that someone else remembers this whole shitshow happening in the first place. Perhaps, if you don’t lose time to explanations every single day—

"So, just to recap," Sam says, pinching his nose. "You’re both stuck in a time loop."

You nod.

"Like Groundhog Day," you and Sam confirm.

"Or Doubled and Redoubled," you and Bucky offer.

"What the hell’s that?" you and Sam ask.

"It’s a good story," you and Bucky say.

"Still isn’t, by the way," you tell him. "And don’t ever make me say that again."

His gaze hasn’t left you once, swooping over you repeatedly, like you’re a flight risk. It lingers, sometimes, on the scratches across your arm, or the smeared ink on your legs.

"No one’s forced you," he replies and you roll your eyes.

Even though you’re already starting to fall back into your usual patterns, something has irrevocably shifted, that small glimmer of hope being overshadowed by a vulnerability you’re not used to.

Awful or not, in a way, the loop has given you the same sense of relief your resets usually provide. Now that you know Bucky is just as aware as you are, you can no longer hide in the knowledge that he won’t remember a thing as soon as the day starts again.

Of course that means you no longer have to carry everything that happened on your own anymore, but you won’t be able to predict his reactions to the things you say or do either. And while that’s been the case for every day that wasn’t this damn Friday before, there’s one last thing that he doesn’t know has changed since today’s started. One last memory you haven’t shared, sitting in a park with the sunlight catching his smile, your heart pounding wildly.

I take calculated risks.

Now’s not the time.

"Alright, that was upsetting," Sam says, bringing you back to the present. "What I don’t get is why we’ve all been doing the same sorta stuff every day, mission and all, when that’s clearly not working."

You bite the inside of your cheek, but when you glance at Sam, he’s frowning at Bucky. Not for the first time, an entire conversation appears to happen between them in complete silence, one that ends with Bucky almost imperceptibly shaking his head.

Sam’s jaw clenches. "Fine," he says. "Have it your way, but you gotta sort your shit out at some point." He looks back at you. "What happens if we don’t go on that mission at all today?"

"I don’t know," you reply. "We only managed that once, and Bucky died anyway. And earlier than usual."

You don’t mention the roof. Neither of you has, even though you feel like it still clings your skin, making every inch of you sticky with shame.

"Alright," Sam says, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I’mma call backup and try to buy us some time. You two stay here and don’t invent any new dumb ways to die."

"You sure about this?" you ask warily. "We’ve never tried this before."

"Neither have I," he says, a tired grin flitting across his face as he grabs his jacket. "It’ll be just like old times."

Can’t say that, bud.

"Sam," Bucky says and he halts for a moment, hovering, "be careful."

You cross your arms in front of your chest as you watch Sam’s shoulders square up. He doesn’t turn back around, so it’s impossible to tell whether the sound he makes in his throat is a laugh or a sigh.

"What’s the worst that could happen?" he asks.

Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

"Now what?" Bucky asks when you sit down on the couch opposite him, leaning your head back  and wrinkling your nose when the motion pulls some of your strained muscles.

"You heard the man," you say. "We’re gonna sit here and not move and hope the ceiling doesn’t drop on your head." You blink one of your eyes open. "Thinking about it, maybe you should move away from underneath that lamp."

"Very funny."

"Oh, I’m not joking."

With an exasperated sigh, he crosses over and flings himself down next to you. His thigh brushes your knee, and your stomach makes an annoying little swoop at the contact.

You force yourself to lean back again, like you don’t even notice. Like you can’t feel his gaze on you.

"Are you planning on ignoring me now?"

As if that was ever an option. Your heart gives a painful tug.

"Oh," you say, ignoring it, "did you want to pretend that we’re good at having a normal conversation?"

"What’re you reading?"

You do open your eyes, then, and find him already thumbing through your book; you must’ve left it on the couch table this morning. It feels like that was lifetimes ago.

"No worries, be my guest," you say dryly. "You’re not the kind of person who dog-ears other people’s books, are you?"

One of Bucky’s eyebrows lifts with a crooked grin. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

"Give it here right now," you say, trying to grab it from his hands; he holds it out of your reach so quickly you can barely see him move, and you huff exasperatedly. "Bucky, I swear—"

"What, you gonna learn me?"

It’s more than the tone of his voice that makes you sit back on your heels; it’s the faint glimmer of a smile as he gently flicks through the pages, like someone who’s very familiar with their contents. "Have you read it?"

"Only several hundred times when my sisters wouldn’t fall asleep. They liked the part about it being 'not the sorta night for bed'."

"I can’t imagine why," you say quietly as Bucky continues to skim through the book, lost in his memory. It makes you ache a little. "Three sisters, huh?"

"Yup." He absent-mindedly traces the frame of an illustration with his right thumb. "I’m the oldest. Was."

There’s a dull sort of grief in that single word, one that makes your fingers twitch. Not because you want to reach out for time, but you want to reach out for him.

Instead, you let out a light laugh. "I don’t see it."

He puts the book down. "What, me growing up with a bunch of little pests?"

"You being nice enough to read them the same story every single night."

"Because I’m not nice?" There’s no venom in his voice, just vague amusement.

"You’re not patient," you answer.

Bucky raises a single eyebrow. "I can be very patient if I want to."

"So you just don’t want to, usually?"

His jaw ticks. "I really don’t."

Something hums in the air between you with unexpected ferocity, making your head swim with the confusing mixture of feelings you’ve gone through today. This loop in particular has left you hollow, too bone-tired to examine what this new, different tension might mean. At least it’s no longer pure animosity.

You think.

You clear your throat. "We’re both gonna have to be for a couple more hours. If we make it to July 5th, it might finally get us out of the loop."

"What, we’ve never tried just sitting around before?"

"Oh, I did. But you wouldn’t, whether I told you about the loop or not." This is the first time you’re both on the same page; at least the first time you’re both aware of it.

The gears are turning in Bucky’s head as he lowers it, frowning at the floor as he’s putting something together. You put your book to the side again and pull one knee up on the couch, waiting for a moment.

"Say it," you prompt him gently.

He lets out a slow, measured breath. "Do you think there’s a reason why we’re stuck in here?"

An involuntary laugh comes out of your throat, joyless and sudden. "You’re talking to it."

"You’ve reset things before, though. What makes it different now?"

"You died," you say quietly.

"Exactly." An angry flush washes over his cheeks. "So what if this isn’t about you and your powers at all? What if there’s something that I still need to do?"

"You think your unfinished business made the time loop? Like the universe intervening or something?"

"No, but … I don’t know. It feels like this is happening on purpose. Not because of you," he adds hastily. "More like, because of everything I did."

His voice catches on the last word, and the urge to reach for his hand becomes near overwhelming. The one closer to you is the vibranium one, though, and you’re sure he doesn’t need that reminder right now.

So instead, you let him sit in the silence for a moment. His head is probably loud enough.

"How long are you going to try punishing yourself for things you had no control over?" you finally ask.

Bucky scoffs. "You’re one to talk."

It’s not really a fair comparison, but it still makes you want to roll your eyes. Then, you remember something.

With a triumphant hum, you reach between the couch cushions. Every day, Sam loses his sharpie in there, and most of the time you’re too tired to remind him.

"Give me your arm," you say, gesturing over his lap.

He frowns. Of course he does. "Why?"

"Just trust me for a second."

Apparently, that works. His muscles flex involuntarily at your touch and you bite the inside of your cheek.

"How are your hands so cold?" he mumbles.

I just run cold. "Hold still."

"What’s that supposed to be?" He cranes his head. "I swear, if you draw a penis on me—”

"No. Self. Deprication," you interrupt him, underlining the words on his arm before capping the pen. "You got it? This was your idea originally, so you should like it."

Bucky stares at you, and you realize your heads are very close together. His eyes are sparkling with something like wonder and hope, and for once, you don’t feel like it’s suffocating you. It makes your insides flutter.

You move out of his space so hastily you startle Alpine, who hisses at both of you before jumping off the couch.

"I’m sorry," you say. "About earlier. I didn’t want …" For him to see you like that.

Bucky nods, finally looking away and closing his mouth again. You can’t help but follow the movement with your eyes.

"No, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to think that—that that was what I meant when I asked you to end this."

"I know that," you say, frowning. "I found something in Strange’s books about time loops—did you think I would just throw myself off the building because you were angry with me?"

"Of course not." It comes out a little too fast.

"Well, for the record, I wasn’t. So stop that." When he continues twisting his fingers, you slap at his hands, immediately regretting it when you hit the metal with a little too much force.

"What did you do that for?"

"I don’t know!"

"Idiot," he mumbles, catching your hand and frowning at it.

Just then, there’s the sound of an explosion outside, and you both flinch, heads whipping around to the window.

It’s the fireworks.

Crimson red, cobalt blue and bright white sparkles illuminate the night sky. You’d both missed it for the past todays. You’ve never made it this far.

Your look returns to Bucky again, because he hasn’t let go of his hand yet. He’s staring outside, his shoulders rigid, his fingers softly twitching around yours when the next pyrotechnic round cracks thunderously through the night.

"FRIDAY," you say, looking up. "Could you turn on the soundproofing?"

A blinking light around the windows indicates your command is being executed. The next colorful explosion outside is no louder than raindrops on the window.

Slowly, you tug your hand out of Bucky’s only to reach for him again properly. Your fingers slot between his, and he sighs quietly. You’re not looking at each other at all; you’re just watching the lights.

You know there’ll be music outside, parties going on all over the country, but in here there’s only the view of the night sky and the silenced cracking of the fireworks.

An unexpected wave of sadness hits you as another shower of light explodes outside. You think of your last New Year’s Eve at the Compound, of sharing a bottle of champagne with your friends as you watched a soundless firework display much like this one. Nat kissed you on the cheek when the clock hit midnight, and Steve stared outside with a look of apprehensive wonder on his face.

None of you were in a particularly cheerful mood, not after five years of not knowing how to bring everyone back, but still, there was a sense of calm that washed over everyone. The serenity of new beginnings, you supposed. With the familiar sight of Nat demolishing a bowl of leftover Christmas chocolates and Bruce humming Auld Lang Syne. You could only ever remember the chorus.

"We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne …"

"I have a good feeling about this year," Natasha said, leaning her head back against the couch with a tired smile.

Steve nodded, thumb continuously rubbing his old compass like he always did when he had that lost look in his eyes. "Yeah, me too," he said.

Not for the first time, you wonder whether they’d already known it would be your last New Year’s together. Whether they’d felt it in their bones somehow. You certainly hadn’t.

You would have tried to change it if you had.

Bucky exhales deeply when the wave of fireworks dies down. His thumb is absent-mindedly tracing light patterns on the back of your hand and you try your best to suppress a shudder, rubbing the tears from your eyes with your other hand.

"You okay?" he asks softly, not turning his head. Neither of you are ready to break this spell quite yet, caught up in the moment after resurfacing from the past.

"Sometimes, I miss the Blip," you answer.

Immediately, there’s the familiar ache of shame and longing. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the patterns continue.

"I know it’s stupid, and terrible," you continue. "I know I shouldn’t. But I—that was the first time I felt like I had a proper purpose. I had people I cared about and who cared about me. I could just disappear from my old life, and no one would even think to look for me. They’d just assume I’d turned to dust, like all the others."

He knows the broad strokes of this, of course, but it’s not something you’d usually talk about. You don’t like thinking about your brush with genuine power all that much; it still makes you sick to your stomach.

"I was always told that I didn’t deserve my powers. That I was useless, that someone like me shouldn’t even exist. And that’s true, in a way, but it’s not like it’s my fault. I didn’t ask for them. But this … the only thing that I can do is trying to use them to help others, and now I can’t even do that anymore."

"I know what you mean," Bucky says. "But you’re wrong. You’re not useless, you never were. You were still the one in control, even though you didn’t feel like it, then. Your powers knew."

"I don’t feel like I’m in control right now."

You’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about your powers. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.

"You know what else is stupid?" you say. "They keep promising rain. On the radio. They say it’s 'a blessing we’re stayin' dry on Independence Day, but on the weekend, it’ll start pouring down," you imitate the woman from your local station. "Sometimes it feels like it’ll never rain again and it’s my fault."

"You hate the rain," he says, and you hiccup a laugh.

"Do I? I can’t even remember."

Bucky hums. "Were you ever going to tell me about the loop if I hadn’t confronted you?"

"I told you so many times," you reply. "You always forgot."

He sweeps a finger across your knuckles. "I’m not forgetting anymore."

"I know that now." You’re not breathing. You should breathe.

"Why did you stop?"

You pull your hand away and a shudder runs down your spine. "Because it fucking hurt."

He turns to face you, then, his eyes molten. "Twelve …"

"I don’t mean to interrupt," FRIDAY says with a tinkle. You flinch as the television flickers on all by itself. "But there’s news coverage coming in from the last pinged location of Captain Wilson."

They might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over the both of you. All the softness on Bucky’s face freezes over, showing something else entirely.

Fear.

"Turn the volume up, FRIDAY."

"—yet unclear as to whether these explosions were also set by the organization. There are eye witnesses placing Captain America still inside the building, as well as at least thirteen civilians that have been trapped by the flames."

The footage from the scene isn’t anywhere close to the lab, but you recognize the building, anyway. You pass it about halfway through your daily mission flight, a highrise with an interestingly shaped roof. On screen, flames are licking out the windows.

This has never happened before. Then again, you’ve never made it far enough through the day. Was this always bound to happen or did something glitch again? Your heart is thundering wildly as the reporter continues.

"First Lieutenant Joaquín Torres, better known as the Falcon, has been transferred to Elmhurst Medical Center. His condition is still unclear."

"No," you whisper.

Bucky has gone white as a sheet next to you, his fingers gripped around the edge of the couch. "Is this …"

"This is new," you confirm shakily. "Fuck, Sam—"

"This won’t be it," Bucky says, standing up with a jolt.

"What?"

Alpine chooses that moment to jump onto your lap, and you struggle to pick her up to hurry after Bucky.

"This can’t be the one that sticks, alright? I won’t have it."

He’s taking the steps two at a time. At first you foolishly think he’s headed for his room to get changed; to try and make it there, help out, come up with a plan. Instead, he reaches under his pillow and your heart drops.

"Let’s talk about this for a second," you blurt out, plea, shriek, you’re not entirely sure. You’ve come so close. The magazine clicks into place. "Bucky!"

"Sam might not have a second," Bucky says, not turning around. It comes out pressed, like he’s forcing himself not to shout. "We don’t know what happens if he dies before I do, do we?"

"Well, no, but—"

"No but. I’ve lost too many people, I’m not going to lose Sam, too, alright? Not if we both know I can prevent—"

Alpine jumps onto his shoulder.

You stagger backwards with the force of it, and so it takes you a moment to realize that her claws are fully extended and she’s hissing into his ear.

To see him caught off-guard is still such a surreal occurrence, but not more so than his cat acting anything but affectionate towards Bucky. He’s cursing, arms flailing as he tries to push her off him, and within a split second, you have his gun in your hands.

"Damn it, Y/N!"

"Listen to me." It feels strange to point his own weapon at him, especially considering what he was just attempting. "We’re the closest we’ve ever been to midnight, which means this day is nearly over. I’ll get my powers back and we can fix whatever is going on with Sam, I promise you. It’s going to be fine."

"You don’t know that. Even with your powers, we might be too slow." Doubt churns heavily in your stomach as Bucky takes a step closer. His hands close around yours, pointing the gun straight at his heart. "Just do it."

You shake your head without looking away from his eyes. "I can’t."

His fingers press down on your knuckles. "We’re running out of time, Twelve."

Old anger bubbles up at the very core of you, and just before you’re forced to squeeze the trigger, you twist around in his hold. The shots go through the window instead, smashing the glass into a million pieces as the thunderous clash of the fireworks returns. You squeeze your eyes shut as the shards slice into your skin. Your ears are ringing with the sudden noise of it all by the time the gun drops to the floor, the magazine emptied.

For a moment, you both just stand there, breathing heavily. Somewhere behind you, you hear a disdainful meow.

"Geez, I hate you," Bucky murmurs, his voice vaguely pained. Your eyes fly open right as he leans in.

It all happens so fast.

He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead before he lets go of you and leaps towards the ruined window.

And then he’s gone.

Too late, a startled cry falls from your lips.

You’ve seen him die so many deaths, but somehow, the intentionality of this one feels worse, much worse. You feel sick with it, the feeling spreading through you like poison, a quick thunderous rush of pain.

Then, you jerk forward and sit up in bed, the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

* * *

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass ki—ooff!"

You slam into Sam’s chest before he can even finish his sentence, wrapping your arms around him tightly. After a moment or so, he hums and settles into it.

Sam gives really nice hugs. It’s not something you’ve consciously noticed before, but then again, it’s not something you usually do. This time, though, he seems to feel that you need it; or maybe some part of him does as well.

Apart from you clinging to Bucky on the roof and in some other bygone version of today, it might be the longest time someone’s hugged you in years, and it makes your heart ache just a little.

"Maybe I should tell FRIDAY to wake you up more often."

"Don’t even think about it, birdbrain," you mumble, squeezing him one more time for good measure. "I’m just glad you’re okay."

"I’m fine," Sam grins, still slightly perplexed as he steps back. "Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Something," you say. "Have you seen Bucky?"

"Not yet, why?" He falls into step next to you. Easily, no tension in his shoulders. Same as always.

Your heart twists a little when you glance at him. For dozens of loops now, you’ve tried so hard to forget that your situation has any impact on anyone else; like you’re really just stuck in a game, the only real person that gets to make decisions, that gets to leave an imprint, however temporary.

Finding out that Bucky’s started to remember as well makes you remember that you’re not, though. This is just as real for everyone else, maybe more so, because it’s always their first run-through. It’s not the TAGs that show you glimpses of who they are; it’s moments like these. Seemingly inconsequential ones that never are, that no one who hasn’t seen them a hundred times would pay attention to.

Like the fact that Sam’s humming that odious song when you slow down, not bothered at all by your silence. He holds the door open for you and meets your gaze with a merry look in his eyes that makes another flood of relief rush through you.

He’s alright. And he has no clue that if this were any regular kind of universe, it would be Saturday and he’d be dead.

"Just wondering."

After all this is over, maybe you’ll make him another pie. Doesn’t matter that he won’t remember he deserves it.

Doubt creeps in again during training, though.

Yester-today was different. Even if Bucky says he’s been aware for a while, who’s to say that wasn’t a fluke as well? What if, despite everything, that was your one and only chance not to have to go through this alone? What if—

"Jesus, shit."

Pain sears through you as you drop to the mat, something warm and wet dripping down your chin. That’s what you get for being distracted, apparently: more blood.

"I’m so sorry," Sam says when he comes back into focus. "I didn’t mean to hit you that hard."

"S’okay," you mumble, your eyes stinging as you feel for your nose. At least it doesn’t appear broken this time around. "I jus’ … I gotta lie down for a secon’, I thing."

"You sure you’re fine?"

"So fine," you say, giving him a slightly shaky thumbs-up. "Honestly, I needed that."

"You are such a weirdo," he says, still not looking entirely convinced. "Get some ice on that soon, okay? I don’t want Buck to scalp me."

"Yup," you say, your head still swimming enough for the words not to make any sense. Maybe you should close your eyes and just wait here for a little while, you think as the gym door shuts with a click. You’re fairly sure the bleeding has stopped.

"You know, I hate to say it, but you look like shit."

At this point, you should have gotten used to the instant comfort the sound of his voice brings every day. You haven’t.

"You’re a damn bad liar, Barnes," you say, sitting up. "I’m a fucking treat and you know it."

He’s not sitting with his back to you, like he usually would, instead leaning against the side of the ring with his arms crossed. His hair is still damp and curling up at the front; his cheeks are stained pink from his run.

"So," Bucky says, tapping his nose. "Wanted to convince yourself that it worked?"

Another weight falls off your chest. He remembers.

"I know you," you say lightly. "You’re big on physical proof of timefoolery."

Your gaze flits to his arm. The writing has disappeared. Pity. Would’ve been a nice confirmation of your point.

He rolls his eyes. "Come here."

Gentle hands hold up your chin to wipe your face with a cloth he produces from … wait a second.

"That’s not your dirty arm rag, is it?"

"It’s clean."

"You’ve not done laundry."

"Neither have you."

"Please get that thing away from me."

You put your hands on his chest to shove him away, but you can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and your usual instinct to antagonize him vanishes. There it is again, right there, against all odds. Steady and strong.

Alive.

"Hey. Look at me."

You do, and for some reason, he’s grinning. Tiredly, but still grinning. Like he’s onto something and you’re not.

"What?" you say breathlessly, and his smile widens like he wants to rub it in, too.

He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls them away from his chest, and maybe you’re still a little dizzy, and then he says, "I never hit the ground."

* * * * *

On the bad days, you often found yourself sitting alone in the darkened briefing room, having FRIDAY show you the pictures of the Vanished over and over and over again.

If you had been there, a nagging little voice in your head kept telling you, Thanos might never have gotten the stones. If you hadn’t taken yourself out of the equation …

Might not. Should have. A lifetime of them.

Echoes of memories had started invading your sleep again, too.

"Where are you, impossible child?"

You didn’t appreciate being reminded of that part of your past and so, when your dreams insisted on it, you tortured yourself with all the things you did, theoretically, have control over; even if it was too late for that now. It had been storming all night, raindrops still drumming against the windows.

You reached for the pendant around your neck, absently tapping it against your lips as the photos flashed across the wall opposite you.

The light switch flipped on and you found yourself blinking in the sudden brightness of it all. When the stars cleared from your vision, you recognized Steve in the doorway.

"Long night?" he asked.

When you didn’t answer, he pulled up a chair, for once not commenting on your feet on the table. Instead, he threw something into your lap.

You almost fell out of your chair.

"I had to fix up the pages a little," he said. "Took longer to dry than expected."

You stared at the cover of the old, well-loved edition of The Wind in the Willows that you thought you’d lost forever over a week ago. The colors had been touched up, the smallest details carved out anew with skilled hands and precise memory.

It looked better than the day you got it, and it still smelled the same when you opened it up.

"How," you whispered, your voice thick with wonder.

"It looked like something special."

"It is." You looked over at him, gratitude welling up in your eyes. "Thank you."

Steve didn’t comment on your uncharacteristically emotional outbreak, didn’t ask any questions, but you felt like you needed to explain it nevertheless.

"When I was younger, my powers used to be a lot more unpredictable than they are now, if you can believe it." You rubbed your cheek with one hand. "I used to get stuck between moments for hours on end, usually when I was somewhere new. Unfamiliar."

It had been the scariest part of your powers, then, before you’d learned to live with the unexpected silences.

"I always say I got it from the library, but really, I just picked it out of a donation box and started carrying it around with me. Then at least when it happened again, I’d have something to read."

It felt strange, now, to try to put it into words, how much comfort this little book had brought you in those long, dark hours.

There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worse of all, no way out.

But there was a way out, in the end. There was a way, and a door, and a warm, safe space waiting at the end of it, and no matter what happened, things turned out alright by the time you reached the last page.

It was pure coincidence that had brought this story to you at the right time, but it had always felt a little like destiny, looking back. And the fact that Steve had brought it back to you?

To say you owed him a favor would’ve been an understatement.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you said.

"There’s a date stamped on the first page. I think it’s from when the library accepted the donation?"

You blinked. Nodded. You knew it well, even though you hadn’t stopped to look at it for years, usually preferring to skip the front matter and diving right into the story.

His next question came out softer. "How old are you?"

You’d always aged weirdly. Probably part of your powers, you’d supposed. Time had never passed for you like it did for everyone else, and it had been a living nightmare to try to keep up with it.

"I’m not sure," you said, your thumb playing with the edge of the pages. "I was ten when I got it, I think. It’s been a while."

You knew your birthday, but you’d been skipping through the timeline since you were in diapers, and so there was no way of knowing how long you’d actually been alive. How much did people age when they were stuck in limbo? How much did they age when time reversed, or sped up? Your body didn’t change when your powers activated, it never did, but that just made any clear answer that much more impossible.

Maybe you’d always been a little out of time, too, in your very own way.

You sat in silence for a while, staring at the ever-changing pictures on the wall. You were so sick of them, but you could never stop watching; you’d made yourself remember their names and faces, even though you weren’t sure what kind of penance you were getting out of that.

Nick Fury. King T’Challa. Maria Hill. Sam Wilson. Scott Lang. You glanced at Steve when Bucky Barnes’ photograph appeared, but the sadness in his eyes had hardened to a constant layer of ice by then, and his face didn’t change anymore. You had a feeling that the two of you had similar pastimes when sleep wasn’t restful.

"What about your family?"

"Don’t have anyone left," you said.

"Me neither," Steve said. "Not apart from everyone here."

You almost smiled at that, but he didn’t. "How do you bear it?" you asked instead. "Again?"

He shrugged, his eyes closing in grim resolution. "We try to fix it. That’s all we can ever do."

You couldn’t help but silently agree. It was the most hopeful you’d felt in a while, that night, surrounded by pictures of the past you were still trying to save.

That was a few weeks before Thanos happened again, and everything good in your life disappeared into thin air.

chapter nine

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[thecheshireprincess]

The Game Itself

Chapter VII: Hell in a Hand Basket

A Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) AU Series

Content Warning: Reader had an abusive childhood and is traumatized by it, said abusive father is HERE and is a motherfucker (dead dove, do not eat), dark themes, canon-typical violence, Reader shoots her pistol, an animal is killed, mentions of death and murder

A/N: I'm very serious that some parts of this chapter could be triggering for people that have a similar background as me, please interact responsibly and scroll away if you feel uncomfortable. There is a reason it took so long to get this chapter out. It's very dark.

Also important to re-emphasize that this story is AU; my characters are not intended to act as they do in canon. They are supposed to act differently because they grew up having YOU in their lives.

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Your father. Your abuser. The person who had single-handedly planted this darkness inside of you and Niragi, who had cultivated it over years to bloom and flourish. At the end of the day, no matter what Niragi had done to you last night, it was all this man's fault. This is absolutely unbelievable.

You see the confusion morph to terror all over Kuina and Usagi's faces, but make no effort to turn around and look at the man behind you. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear just as soon as he had shown up. Maybe this is even just another bad dream haunting you, and you'll wake up soon still cocooned in bed. That must be it, a nightmare.

But then why could you feel the sharp prickle of the glass shattered at your feet, pressing tiny cuts into the delicate skin? The warm stickiness of your blood spills out onto the sun heated concrete, contrasting starkly with the cool metal of a gun's muzzle pressing suddenly and firmly into the nape of your neck; letting you know that this is absolutely not just a dream. The terrifying implication of this sensation has your head swimming.

Your father is at The Beach and he is armed.

Just as you begin to wish you hadn't come to the pool for a girls' day at all and had stayed with Chishiya in the room instead, you hear the loud crash of the heavy patio doors slamming open. The party that had previously been raging wildly behind you goes deathly silent and the music is cut off; a hushed tension falling over the pool party like a wet blanket. The strained environment, broken up only by brief unintelligible murmurs of the party goers, was recognizable as one of fear. There's only one person with the ability to create this kind of atmosphere just with their existence, and you're suddenly thankful he's here. You exhale a brief breath of relief, Niragi.

Your father doesn't seem to notice the change in ambience, or at the very least he doesn't care, because he doesn't move his attention or weapon from you. "Didn't you hear me, you little brat?" the gruff voice spits; rough, cracked lips pressed disgustingly right against your ear, "Is this really how you greet your Dad after so many years apart?" Your entire body wants to shiver, to react viscerally to having this man's hands on you again, to throw up what little you have in your stomach. But no, you know this game, it was the first one you'd ever learned to play. Don't react. Don't cry. Don't try to escape.

It would only make things worse for you in the long run if you did.

Your two friends are stuck staring up at you from their places perched on their lounge chairs, fruity pink martinis still clutched but long forgotten in their fingers. They are very obviously confused and conflicted, jaws clenched and eyebrows furrowed in horror. Should they interfere? Would it make things better if they could provide a distraction? Would it make them worse? Your teeth clench involuntarily, an attempt to get a handle on the body that is rapidly threatening to betray you, and shoot them a look as if to tell them to stay as far out of it as possible.

Sudden pain rips through your jaw and neck as your father's calloused fingers dig deeply into your jaw, attempting to twist your neck to look at him. You would let him snap your neck before meeting his gaze directly. "Not going to answer me, huh? So this is the kind of disrespectful bitch your brother raised then," the man snarls cruelly. That particular sentence might as well have been a shot to the heart, because you knew that Niragi had done everything, given everything for you to grow up as normally as possible. That against all odds, the two of you had turned out relatively well-adapted; at least prior to coming to Borderland, a place where your imperfections were highlighted at twenty fold. Were you a disappointment to your brother? Your eyes begin to burn and water from the intensity of your father's grasp as you wait agitatedly for Niragi to make his move - what is taking him so long to get to you?

A flash of blonde glints in the sun in your periphery, Chishiya. Relief floods each of your senses at the mere glimpse of him, a sob very nearly escaping your tightly clenched jaw. Chishiya wouldn't have hesitated for even a second to come straight to you if Niragi wasn't here to handle it, so you know the time has arrived. Your father tenses slightly behind you, but doesn't release his grip on your jaw - his fingerprints would remain tattooed on your face for a long time - nor does he lower his weapon. At long last, your brother snarls, "Get the fuck away from her. Now." Even in Borderland, you'd never heard Niragi speak in such a deep timber, voice dripping with enough venom to take down the entire Beach. Chills.

Your father only laughs, still not removing his hand from your face, no. Not lowering his weapon from the base of your skull. You don't move either, still standing and staring straight forward. Waiting - for help? Death? You don't know right now. "Niragi! If this isn't just one big, wonderful family reunion!" Ah, the fake boisterous voice. The one that he only uses when he knows he has an audience. And boy, does he ever - a primetime slot at The Beach's afternoon pool party.

Family reunion, indeed. One you'd hoped neither of you would ever be subjected to. "Get your fucking gun away from my sister's head," Niragi spits, but you can hear the slight strain in his tone. Your brother is stressed the fuck out. Terrified. You let out a shaky breath, trying not make any sudden movements. Your entire body yearns to wriggle free from his slimy grasp on you.

"You wouldn't shoot your father," the man behind you mocks your brother. Don't be so sure. Realization hits you that Niragi is likely standing behind your father much in the same way as your father is standing behind you - muzzle of his beloved rifle pressed up tight against his neck. The only thing preventing him from pulling the trigger? You standing in his line of fire.

You hear Niragi click his tongue in annoyance, "You don't fucking know me anymore, or what I'm capable of. And you aren't my father. You certainly aren't hers." You grit your teeth again, knowing Niragi is getting pissed. Your father was easily getting under his skin, and you were afraid of what he'd be able to do if that happened.

Your brother is right. The man standing behind you wasn't your father, had done nothing for you but cause pain and suffering. But Niragi going there would only open himself up as an easy target for your father to further manipulate him and his emotions. You've seen this exact scene unfold in front of you more times than you care to count, but this time there are firearms involved and a world with no laws or norms to conform to. It would all come to a head here.

Your father cackles at this, finally releasing his hold on your jaw and turning dangerously around to meet your brother's gaze. Though you desperately want to cling to Niragi like you'd done so many times previously, you bolt to the side to Chishiya instead, the broken glass from your spilled martini slicing your feet further. You don't care, can't care. The blonde grasps gently onto your upper arm, pulling you tight against his side as his eyes roam frantically over your shaking form. He lets go briefly to remove his white jacket, wrapping it cozily around you before pulling you tightly to him once more and interlacing your trembling fingers with his.

Now is a good opportunity to study your father, really seeing him for the first time in eight years. He looks old, angry lines etched permanently into his features. Noticeably, your brother now has several inches of height on him, the younger man sneering down at him as he aims his rifle steadily between the older man's twinkling eyes. "Oh, so let me get this straight. You think you're her father now, right?" You'd known that was coming, just like you knew it would stoke the fire of rage in your brother and you willed him to please, for fuck's sake, stay calm.

Because of course, Niragi was more your father than your actual father was. All four of you standing here knew that to be true, but this Niragi - his temper was too short. He couldn't handle being mocked like this without snapping.

Niragi's eyes flick briefly to take in your appearance as you stand shivering against your best friend, you can tell he's trying to assess the damage you took. You can see the wild, fearful look in his eyes, you recognize it. So many years of withstanding these moments together - how could this be happening again? You want to run to your brother in this moment, his eyes telling you that he wants that too. Instead, he looks back to your father as the older man speaks again, narrowed eyes locked in on the blonde beside you. You can almost predict exactly what's about to be said even now.

"How sweet! Chishiya, it's good to see you here too! Tell me, son of mine, if you've done such a good job as a father figure, why did she run to Chishiya and not you, hm?" You tense as your father mentions your friend, gripping more tightly to the hand that's holding yours, the man rubbing your knuckles gently with his thumb. Chishiya, stoic as ever, simply blinks at your father, giving off an air of boredom with his presence. He had never been afraid of your father, knowing that the man was just another coward underneath, just like his own father. It seemed justified that they were best friends.

Even after eight years, your father knew what he was doing - that that comment would cut Niragi like a dagger. He's breaking him down again, manipulating him just like when he was a teenager. Just like all the times before, shredding his way through layer upon layer of protective walls built up over time in just seconds. The aforementioned man doesn't take his dark gaze off your father, he doesn't falter for a second. And so, without taking his eyes off your father's cold glare, twin sets of blackened eyes staring like mirrors at one another, Niragi speaks to you, "Sweetheart, go inside."

You hear those words and feel your pulse throb sickeningly in your ears. No, no, no. Though your brother is locked in on his target, you shake your head rapidly, pleading. "No," you mumble, trying everything to not cry like a baby. You don't want to go inside. Because you know that even this NIragi wouldn't kill your father in front of you, not with you standing just two feet away.

And you can't let Niragi do this. It will be his final plunge into the abyss if he does.

"Chishiya," the man warns in an authoritative voice, eyes still frozen in a standoff against your father. You try in vain to yank yourself away from Chishiya, knowing he is about to heed your brother's silent request. Get her out of here. By force if you have to.

"I'm sorry, baby," Chishiya whispers to you, warm hands gripping forcefully onto your wrists. You try urgently to shake him off of you, for once in your life wishing to evade his touch. The man barely reacts, pulling you with him inside as you try to squirm and kick away from him.

"Niragi! Don't. Please don't do it, it will ruin you! He's not worth it!" You shriek at the top of your lungs, now almost across the pool deck as your entourage follows you and Chishiya back into the hotel. "You're still a good person, Niragi. Don't let him take that from you, please!" you sobbed, pleading with your brother. If the citizens of The Beach hadn't been looking, they definitely were now. It doesn't get much more entertaining than this in Borderland.

Entering again through the double doors, you begin clawing frantically at the metal doorframe, trying to gain purchase to pull yourself away from your friend and back to the pool deck before something stupid can happen. From behind you, Kuina grabs at your hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze in a feeble attempt to appease you. It doesn't escape your notice that she is helping Chishiya wrangle you, and you only get more aggravated at the people around you. Why is everyone against you?

If they're going to fight you, then you're going to give them a run for their money. You halt forward movement, dropping your body to the floor at Chishiya's feet. Your form crumples down and you forcefully yank your arms from the two that had a hold on you, acting much like a petulant child that didn't want to go take a nap. You don't care, these people are pissing you off.

"Really, Koko? You think I'm not just going to pick you up?" the blonde asks in slightly frustrated disbelief. "Of course you will, but I don't have to make it easy for you," you spit back, starting to tire of Chishiya's blind loyalty to your brother. He is supposed to be your best friend, not Niragi's; it isn't fair that he's constantly working against you.

This is the second time in as many days that you've been dragged by your best friend through these exact doors in tears. This realization strikes a chord of vexation in you - you are tired of being told what to do. Tired of Chishiya enforcing what you're being told to do. Tired of crying. Tired of feeling and looking weak. When was enough going to be enough?

Chishiya huffs a short breath out through his nose, scooping you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing and sending a pointed look as if to say "barely an inconvenience". You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your body as your friend carries you to the elevator.

"You're getting blood everywhere anyway, hopefully you won't need stitches in your feet," the blonde points out, reminding you that you had been injured at the pool. A simple hum is the only response you deem necessary at this point, the elevator dinging cheerfully to let you know you'd arrived at your floor.

Arisu catches up with your group as you walk the hallway to your shared room with Chishiya. "Hey! What's going on?" he asks, eyes as wide as saucers as he takes in the scene around your flustered group. Usagi pulls him aside, the couple falling back behind the rest of you as you enter through your designated door.

"Kuina, get me the first aid kit from the bathroom," Chishiya demands roughly, setting you down on the edge of your bed and kneeling to inspect your glass cut feet. You'd barely registered the pain up until now, but the sharp sting was becoming more apparent as your adrenaline wore off. Your friend clicks his tongue as he studies the damage, taking the first aid kit from Kuina when she returns.

"I have to remove the splinters of glass, it might hurt a little bit, okay?" your friend asks you, ever the forthright caregiver. He will be a great pediatric surgeon one day. Kuina sits down on the bed next to you and takes your hand in hers carefully. You nod in understanding, gratefully accepting Kuina's warm and comforting touch. Your eyes fill with tears as Chishiya plucks tiny slivers of glass from your skin, a couple of the deeper ones making you jolt in discomfort.

Chishiya rubs your calf gently, soothingly, "I know, almost done." His eyes narrow as he pulls a few more small splinters from each foot before placing the metal tweezers down and looking up to check on you. Your sorrowful eyes meet his from behind wettened eyelashes, the devastated look on your face causing his stomach to sink. This was turning out to be yet another completely impossible day.

"This will be the worst part, angel," he whispers remorsefully, holding up the blue bottle of antiseptic. Exhaling a shaky breath to settle your overactive nerves, you nod once as confirmation to your friend to get it over with before laying your head on Kuina's shoulder for support. The initial throb of the antiseptic doing its job tears through your senses, causing you to sharply suck air in through your teeth in response. As Chishiya gently works the gauze over your cuts, the pain gives way to more of a dull, manageable ache. Before you know it, your feet are wrapped up and you're like brand new again. Just as you'd said, he'd be amazing at his job one day.

Arisu and Usagi hesitantly enter the room then, carting along a plethora of snacks and drinks. You smile an encouraging smile at them, grateful for the distraction and the treats. Everyone settles in around the room, Arisu and Usagi perched nervously on the couch, Kuina lounging happily on your bed beside you, and Chishiya still on the floor at your feet with an indescernible look plastered on his face.

Your friends quietly munch on their chosen snacks, no one discussing the tangible tension that hung thickly in the air as you expertly avoided the elephant in the room. Time ticked by slowly, as if you were all trapped in quick sand, attempting to move forward but ultimately being forced backwards over and over again. That is, until Kuina had enough. The woman sits up to look at you now, eyes filled with concern and a slight curiosity. "What happened out there?" she asks quietly. Eyes dropping to the chips you held in your lap, your fingers crinkle the material as you chew on your lip trying to decide what to say.

Chishiya studies your reaction for a brief moment before abruptly standing up, untouched biscuits falling to the floor. The man deadpans with arms crossed over his chest, "Okay, get out." All four of you look up at him in surprise, eyes widened and confused. Your eyes narrow as you realize your friend is trying to protect you, but you're getting tired of being protected without having asked for it in the first place. You jump to your bandaged feet now too, meeting Chishiya's gaze with intensity.

"No, Chishiya. They're my friends and I want them to stay," you demand, voice suddenly authoritative and measured. Something is shifting within you; no longer trying to be quietly subservient to everything being thrown at you. The man's eyebrows knit together in surprise, but he backs down and goes to sit in the plush armchair in the corner of the room; likely deeming this an unnecessary argument.

You turn to look at Kuina, prepared now to give her at least something, "That was Niragi and I's father, if you can even call him that. He's wanted to kill me my entire life, and I guess it will be possible for him now, here." You pause for a brief moment, considering the circumstances. "That is, unless Niragi has already killed him. And then we have an entirely different problem on our hands. Either way, the outcome is not good," you elaborate, head swimming with the possibilities. You despise this feeling, as though the four people in the room were staring at you in sympathy. It made your skin crawl with rage.

Sucking in a ragged breath, you storm toward the bathroom to study your appearance in the mirror. Your puffy red-rimmed eyes fall immediately to the five angry welts appearing already along your jawline.

You would look at yourself in sympathy too, you look like shit.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You don't know how much time has passed since you locked yourself in the bathroom away from the others in unfounded fury and embarassment, but you can tell by the way the orange-toned light streams in through the tiny crescent window that the sun is beginning to set in the sky. Shoulders slumped against the door, you try to come to terms with having lost your brother fully to his darkness.

Sure he was bad before. And sure you had truly seen your father in Niragi last night during the pool incident. You had thought then that there was no hope for his redemption, but your judgement had been clouded by your trauma. Because you saw something else in him earlier, in the way his eyes studied you just like every other time he had in the past. Fear. For you. That flicker of softness gave you hope that the real Niragi was still in there, still within reach; but not if he did what he was supposed to be out there doing. If he killed your father, you knew it would pull him too deep into the abyss - drowning him. That would be the end. You allow your head to fall tiredly against the door, this game was becoming far too complicated, even for you.

The door to your room clicks open and Niragi slips in quickly and discreetly, already talking to who he believes is just Chishiya in the room. "Well things are well and truly going to hell in a hand basket -" he trails off having noticed the three additional people in the room. Your brother slaps a hand over his face and groans in irritation before giving everyone a once over, "And getting worse by the minute." His eyes meet Chishiya's, icily staring back at him, "You trust these people?"

Chishiya chews the inside of his cheek in consideration of Niragi's question. "She does," he affirms, motioning towards the locked bathroom door. Niragi nods once, eyes flicking briefly towards the white wooden barricade blocking you from his view. "And you?" Niragi presses, jutting his chin towards the blonde. This time Chishiya answers instantly, "I trust her." Niragi nods again in acceptance, deciding he has no extra energy to try to kick your friends out of the room, especially given that these particular friends have a lot of fight in them. He carefully places his rifle down near the doorway to the room knowing full well that you wouldn't be wanting to see a gun for a long while after this afternoon's escapades.

Your brother crosses the room languidly to the closed bathroom door, rapping his knuckles gently against it. The man knew you were very likely leaning up against it on the other side; one of your natural defense mechanisms after dealing with something particularly challenging.

"Please come out, Koko," he implores, his gentle tone another rare glimpse at the brother you've always known. When you answer his plea with silence, he sighs and slides down the door on his side, postioning himself so you're leaning back to back with the door stood between you.

Niragi chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, weighing his options. He had to talk to you, that much was obvious. The man had not expected Chishiya to allow your friends to stay, but obviously you had had your say in things and getting rid of them would only make things worse. He finally speaks again, despite having an unwanted audience present. "We've had a lot of hard conversations this way, haven't we?" he asks you with a small smile of nostalgia, earning a half-hearted hum from deep in your chest. The man runs his fingers through his wind blown hair before sighing, "I didn't do it, sweetheart. He's still alive, unfortunately." Unbeknownst to you, Niragi and Chishiya exchange a severe look at this piece of news, though somehow it is music to your ears.

You sniffle a little bit, not realizing that you were crying again. Always crying. "You didn't?" you question, surprised. You had been convinced by the look in his eyes before you were dragged away that he would easily pull the trigger with no remorse. You wouldn't even blame him, the older man deserved it; he really did. You just didn't want to lose your brother too.

"No, I didn't. But make no mistake, I wanted to. I still do," he admits, laying his head back against the door, mirroring your position. "I've worried about your safety before, many times. But never have I been more afraid than I was today. Seeing him hold a gun to you? You have no idea how sick and powerless I felt. He deserves to die."

You crack the door open slightly at your brother's vulnerability, catching everyone's attention. Niragi backs away from the door, moving to lean instead against the wall to ceiling windows to the right of the bathroom. After a moment of silent consideration, you walk quietly out of your hiding place to study your brother. Kneeling in front of him, your tired eyes search his. Once you've found him - your actual brother - you collapse into him, wrapping your arms tight around his midsection to finally receive the comfort you've been yearning for since arriving in Borderland.

You don't care that you have an audience, or that this could shatter his previously intimidating and powerful reputation at The Beach. If Niragi does, he doesn't show it; holding your head to his chest and running his fingers through your hair. Eventually you look up at him, and his thumb comes to your jaw gently, eyebrows furrowing and eyes set ablaze.

"He hurt you," the man observes, anger obviously pooling inside of him once again. You stick your tongue in your cheek as you process the hypocrisy of his statement. With your mouth pressed in a flat line, unimpressed, you state, "So did you." Holding your arm up for him to see the imprints of his own fingers standing out starkly against your smooth skin.

He studies the bruises on your arm, the ones that he put there. You watch as several conflicting emotions flicker through his eyes; realization, pain, regret, sorrow. His thumb rubs over them gently, nodding. "I know, I really fucked up yesterday," the man laments, "I'm so sorry for hurting you." You believe that he's sorry, but you're not sure you're ready to forgive him just yet. Instead of saying anything, you rest your head back down against him as you both decompress, truly allowing the weight of your new reality to fall on top of you.

Your father is still at The Beach, and he is armed. What are you going to do about it?

After a long few moments of silence, Niragi finally speaks to you again. "You're going to move into my room," he says firmly, leaving no space for discussion or bickering. He looks up to Chishiya, "Both of you. It's the only way I know you'll be safe." Chishiya chews his cheek in irritation, but ultimately nods in agreement; standing from his place in the corner of the room and beginning to gather the things he knew you would want with you.

It isn't long before you're following Chishiya down a darker corridor, two floors up from the room you were used to. The men are hauling your bags filled to the brim with junk necessities as you waltz along enjoying the journey wrapped in your mother's blanket. Niragi huffs as he readjusts his grip on what he's carrying, "Just how is it that you ended up in a wasteland version of Tokyo and you've already collected so much junk?" You grin proudly, "You know I like to be comfortable. I just like pretty things!" The corners of Chishiya's lips tilt up as he tries to keep himself from laughing. Cute.

"Like a fucking seagull, I tell you," Niragi mutters, also trying in vain to conceal a fond smile. You continue walking behind Chishiya until the man stops at the door on the end, eyeing you expectantly to open it. You tilt your head in confusion at the man, eyes narrowing, "You've been to Niragi's room before? Why?" Both men look away in avoidance, Niragi grumbling something about just getting the door open before his arms fall off. Interesting. Did this have anything to do with what happened in the first game they played together? You would normally press the two of them more, but you're kind of over it at this point. After twenty four hours packed full of hellishness, your body longs to fall into bed and sleep for days, tucking this new piece of information into your back pocket for another time.

Niragi decides that the only way they can be sure you're safe at night is by making you sleep between the two of them, that way at least one of them would wake up if your father tried to come in looking for you. Your brother also places the sturdy wooden desk chair under the handle of the door to at least try to prevent it from opening at all. You realize now, Niragi is actually terrified; acting more neurotically than you've ever seen him before. And it makes sense, because your father has a gun. And there are no laws protecting you in this cruel world.

As it turns out, this particular sleeping arrangement puts you in a very awkward situation. Stuck nestled between the man you yearn to progress your relationship with, and the one who you aren't completely sure you can trust anymore. Because although your brother was being soft with you tonight, giving you a glimpse of what you'd been missing from your old life, you were unsure if he would remain that way or revert back to Borderland Niragi. And then there was that secret that the two men must be keeping from you. How did that play into things?

You couldn't help but worry - would there come a time that you wouldn't be able to trust Chishiya either?

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

A quiet sigh pushes past your lips as you finish sorting through the latest stock of medical supplies, carefully organizing the various spools of gauze, bandages, and antiseptics that had been brought back this morning. Ann, who had been restocking the cabinet that housed the medications you were able to locate over time, looks over curiously with a sly smile painted on her cherry red lips.

"Bored already?" the woman asks, feigning offense. Smiling fondly, you glance up at her from your place on the cool concrete floor. "Not of you. Never of you!" you admit with a laugh as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Because it was, Ann was one of the best people you had met here.

A little cold in demeanor, somewhat calculating. But she was smart as a whip, gentle in her ministrations, and super kind underneath it all. You weren't shocked to find that even she was often playing a game of her own.

Though you weren't in a position to see it, you could hear the door to the medical room swing open with a loud creak interrupting you. The footsteps that followed were light and airy, certainly someone that was excited to be here and not someone that was dragging themselves in falling apart and in need of medical attention.

"Oh! A-ann . . . I thought my friend was supposed to be in here tonight," Kuina's voice stammers uncharacteristically, making your eyebrows shoot up. Ann quirks an eyebrow too, glancing briefly at you hidden behind a towering filing cabinet. "Are we not friends, Kuina?" she queries teasingly.

A choked sound of embarassment comes from the back of your friend's throat and you have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud at her expense. "Uh, um, no! Of course, I mean - well I mean that we are friends . . . " Kuina stumbles over her words, her usually confident demeanor obviously shaken.

Oh, she has it bad. You could not wait to tease your friend who was constantly teasing you and Chishiya over your apparent "love sickness". Ann smiles affectionately at the woman, waving her off that she was just teasing. "Are you looking for this friend?" she asks then, beckoning down at you still sprawled on the floor among medical paraphernalia.

Kuina comes closer, peeking around the corner of the cabinet at you and laughs breathily. "Yep! That friend. Thank you, Ann," the woman grins, before turning to you with wide eyes and scarlet cheeks. A smug and knowing look is plastered across your face as you prepare to tease her, but she tells you off with just a bat of her eyelashes. Ah, how your friendship had progressed in such a short time - for that you are grateful to Borderland.

Tongue in cheek, Kuina sighs before asking, "You know Niragi is leaning outside the door glaring menacingly at everyone who walks past?" You groan, slapping a hand to your forehead. "Yeah I know, he won't leave me alone anymore," you say exasperatedly, "I think he thinks that his presence will keep our father away from me." In reality, Niragi's presence has rarely, if ever, deterred your father from finding or hurting you if he was so inclined. Though, you guessed, Niragi had never had a rifle slung on his shoulder previously. So perhaps he was on to something.

Kuina huffs in disappointment, arms flailing out to the sides dramatically, "What about the pool party? We were supposed to dance the night away!" You laugh through your nose at the cute dejected look painted on your friend's features.

"We're still going to do that, we'll just ignore him. He's all moody and wrapped up in his thoughts anyway, I'm sure he'll just lean angrily on the wall and stare." That has both of you erupting in a fit of giggles; your brother was doing a lot of spiteful leaning and staring at you as you went about your life in the last couple of days since your father had arrived at The Beach.

You wish you could say that things had improved since Niragi had been super sweet and soft with you in front of all your friends, but no. Not really. Now he was just quiet, brooding. You knew that his constant presence and the way that his jaw was tightened like a wind-up toy meant this was just the calm before the storm.

"But no rainbow shots this time, Kuina!" you chastise her, shivering in remembrance of the last time you'd both gone dancing at the pool. Ann turns around to face the two of you again, having been sanitizing some medical tools in the sink. "Rainbow shots?" she questions hesitantly, as though she isn't sure she wants to know.

You groan, "Ugh, they're absolutely lethal. I ruined my best bikini that night." Ann's eyes widen at your admission, mouth opening and closing as she tries to find an appropriate response. She scoffs softly. "I've never done anything like that before," she admits quietly, "I'm not sure I like the idea of surrendering control of my mind and body . . . but also, no one's ever really invited me out to do so."

Your head snaps to study her, feeling kind of bad about what she was telling you. An idea appears in your mind, and you shoot a smirk at your friend. "Well, since we've already established that we're all friends, you should join us tonight! You never come to the pool to have fun. Please Ann?"

Both women look shocked at your words, staring at you as though they were fish you'd ripped suddenly out of water. You give your best puppy dog eyes - hey, they worked on pretty much everyone else around here, right? - pleading with the taller woman. Ann sighs, "Well if you're going to look at me like that . . . I'll give it a try."

You squeal in delight, jumping up off the floor and grabbing Kuina's hand with a wide grin. "Let's go get ready then!" you enthuse. Both women are infected by your sudden joyfulness, and all three of you strut down the hallway to prepare for the evening ahead. Well, you and Kuina strut, Ann walks casually between the two of you; starting to question if this was a good idea or not.

Before you know it, you're back under the flashing strobe lights, bass from the upbeat music pulsing in your chest. Kuina and Ann move to the beat beside you, both nursing the one drink that you'd all agreed on as your limit for the night. Yours, however, was long gone and flowing through your veins deliciously. A grin spreads across your cheeks, seeing how Kuina has loosened up now, her usual confidence returning and allowing her to teach Ann steps to a dance that she loved from home.

They are so cute together, your body feels warm and fuzzy inside seeing them laugh and enjoy each other's company. In a despairing place like this, these truly blissful moments are few and far between - both of them deserve to cherish this time together. Your mind feels on cloud nine as you admire them swaying back and forth, Kuina cackling loudly as she corrects Ann's uncertain steps.

A surprised yelp escapes your lips as Chishiya's left arm suddenly snakes around your body, hand splaying warmly across your belly and igniting your insides with fire. His right hand comes to rest gently, protectively on your waist as he rocks you to the beat of the music. His lips press lightly to your ear, goosebumps spreading like widlfire across your skin. "What are you thinking so hard about, angel?" he asks, tone low and gravelly. You turn your head slightly to him but ignore his question, "I didn't know you liked dancing, Shiya!" The man smirks behind you, "You know I don't, but you looked like a third wheel, so I thought you needed me." Your breath hitches, Chishiya's words and intimate touch compounding with the alcohol in your system and flowing through you in a dizzying concoction.

Suddenly fully charged with confidence, you turn around to face your best friend, arms draping around his neck and tangling into his fluffy blonde hair. His hands come to rest firmly at your hips, allowing you to pull yourself impossibly closer to his warmth. Your left thumb strokes a pattern against his cheek, causing a low growl to rumble in his chest, radiating heat through both of your bodies. Chishiya's eyes meet yours, electricity seeming to connect the two of you; the taut tension of desire is back in full force. You've made your decision, you don't want to play cat and mouse with your friend anymore.

Your chin tilts upwards towards his, ready to close the distance at long last. He looks down at you through lidded eyes, one warm palm coming to support the back of your neck. Your heart thunders against your ribcage, is this really going to happen? Eyelids feeling heavy with desire, your eyes naturally close, lips parting slightly in excited anticipation of feeling his lips against yours. Chishiya brings his other hand to your cheek and gently pulls away, ripping a tortured whimper from you. Why?!

You aren't above begging for what you need at this point. "Please Shiya, I want this more than anything. I'm so tired of playing this game," you whine pathetically. His lust darkened eyes study you, conflicted, before a melancholy smile appears on his face. He pulls you closer to him, holding your face with both hands and stroking his thumbs affectionately over your cheeks.

"Do you have any idea how much I want this? For how long I've been chasing you? But not like this, baby. I need you to be fully sober for this, you deserve nothing less." Chishiya's warm lips press a gentle kiss against the tip of your nose as he continues caressing your face, imprinting this image of you looking up at him into his mind. You want to fight, to demand that he kiss you because it was just one drink, but you know it would be no good. Your best friend was trying to honor you, to preserve a special milestone in your relationship instead of rushing it in a moment of lust. You should be grateful for his foresight and resolve.

You simply nod, disappointed as hell, but press your face against the column of Chishiya's neck as he wraps you against him tightly. "No more games?" you ask after a minute or two, dying to know if you were finally acknowledging your true feelings and at least progessing your relationship tonight.

"No more games," he affirms, rocking you back and forth alongside him to the quick tempo of the lively music that filled the air around you. The man himself doesn't dance, but it's sweet how he guides your body to the beat. You look back up to him laughing as he twirls you around, shining eyes meeting his striking chestnut ones. The music and the chatter of the pool party seems to fade out around the two of you as you lose yourself in the depths of his eyes.

The way he looks at you now, reverently admiring you in front of him, makes your heart swell with joy. He smiles a small smile before observing, "We never picked our conversation back up." You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You've had a million conversations between the two of you in your lifetime, how were you supposed to remember a specific one? He studies you for a minute, before reminding you. "I told you that I love when you laugh like that for me," he whispers, jogging your memory. The night that everything had changed.

You bite your lower lip, slightly nervous to ask the question that's weighing heavily in the back of your mind, "Do you . . . do you still feel that way? Even after everything that has changed?" The blonde grins at you now, pressing his thumb against your lower lip and bringing his face close to yours so you can hear him, "I love it even more now, it reminds me that you're still here with me, still healthy and happy." You let out a sigh of relief, your darkness hadn't pushed him away. Your fingers find the metal-tipped string from the hood of his white jacket, fidgeting with it to settle the butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"So are we like . . . finally more than friends?" you ponder, again with some anxiety. You'd felt like your relationship had shifted long long ago, but didn't know what was really going on in the man's head. He smirks at you again, eyes staring longingly at your lips for a tense moment. "I think we've been more than friends for a long time, darling," he whispers huskily, brushing some hair out of your face and behind your ear. "I've been trying to claw my way out of the friendzone for at least as long as we've been here, and even some time before that."

You laugh at how blind you'd been, different moments of "more than friends" actions flooding your brain. "Then are we . . .?" you trail off, gesturing between the two of you. Honestly, you're both idiots about relationships, having absolutely no foundation for how one should look or function. You don't even know what you're asking, not really. But it doesn't matter, Chishiya knows and understands you perfectly. He nods, "I'm all yours, I always have been." You feel your eyes filling with tears at his admission. You throw your arms around his neck again, nuzzling again into the warmth of his neck.

"I'm all yours too, Shiya. I always have been and I always will be."

From across the pool deck, Niragi watches the interaction knowingly. The man pushes himself off the wall he'd been leaning on with a small, satisfied smile and returning into the hotel. You don't need him here tonight.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Hatter was utterly convinced - this would be the Ten of Spades game that you were still desperately seeking. The card that would complete The Beach's - well, his - Spades collection. That's how the entire Militant faction and you had found yourselves glaring up at the colorful entrance gate for Toshimaen Amusement Park; bright, neon lights casting a looming shadow over your massive group. The theme park no longer gives off an air of whimsy and excitement, but instead fills you with a sense of absolute dread.

Why were you here? For the obvious, because Niragi is here, left hand gripping your shoulder tightly. A silent demand - stay close. You are rarely, if ever, out of your brother's sight these days, and game nights were no different. This time, for good reason. As you'd come to learn, your father was also a part of the Militant faction; the man standing capriciously off to the side nearest Last Boss. You wonder maliciously if Last Boss could just slip to the side a tiny bit and impale the old man - but that would be too good to be true.

And for the less obvious, Hatter seems to have it in his head that you are some sort of Spades master after clearing so many of them in the last few weeks. And so, here you are. In terms of things that are triggering to your childhood trauma, this was probably a 1000 on the scale. This was one place that your father had surprisingly brought you and Niragi in your childhood, many many times. It was the ultimate irony to be brought back here with both men, though under very different circumstances.

You were stuck between wishing for your brother to remove his hand from you and leaning more deeply into him for comfort. You could feel the familiar inklings of panic starting to surge through your veins; a combination of your abuser's smiling face standing way too close and the falsely cheerful lights flashing overstimulatingly all around you. You try in vain to choke back a sob that attempts to escape you, this would be the worst place in the world to start freaking out. You need to stay calm. Niragi isn't stupid though; he feels your stressed movement under his hand and glances down to study you. Your glassy eyes stay fixed forward and you continue trying to breathe through your rapidly constricting airway.

Niragi makes the decision for you, adjusting his grip on you so his entire forearm rests comfortingly across your chest, hand now firmly gripping the opposite shoulder. He pulls you more tightly against him, your back colliding against his chest. Though you wish to have more fight in you, you feel your body melt against him, your nerves soothed by the familiar stance. "I know, just try to stay calm, okay? We'll get out of here soon," he mumbles.

Just then, the sickeningly familiar chime indicates that registration has closed, and the game would be beginning momentarily.

[Difficulty: Six of Spades] Collectively, the entire group aside from the random outsiders groans. Another duplicate card, you and Aguni had cleared a Six of Spades the first night you'd been at The Beach officially.

[Game: Beast Hunter]

[Rules: All players need to cooperate to defeat all the beasts inside the venue. A point value is assigned to each, and is as follows:

Crows = 1 point

Eagles = 30 points

Wild Boars = 50 points

Panthers = 80 points

Tigers = 100 points]

[Clear Condition: All predators are killed]

[Game Over: All players are killed off by the predators]

[Weapons are allowed] This particular phrase makes you feel a wave of relief and nausea all at once. Chishiya had insisted you bring your pistol to this game with you, knowing that your father would be here and honestly not knowing if you could trust Niragi to protect you from him. The heavy piece of steel weighed thickly in the pocket of the cargo pants you'd dug out of your closet - you'd thought they would be the best bet for smuggling the weapon you weren't supposed to have.

Aguni steps forward to address his group, "Everyone that doesn't have a gun should be paired with someone who does. Niragi, you stick with Last Boss," you feel your brother tense up, pulling you ever closer to him. Aguni looks at you now, "You'll be safe with Katashi. Stick with him, okay?" Niragi's entire body jolts viscerally and you know your eyes widen, betraying the cool demeanor you try to emulate during games. Why would Aguni do this to you? Does he really not know the truth about your father? Or . . .?

"Absolutely the fuck not. There is no way in hell that -" Niragi's outraged rant is cutoff immediately by Aguni's sharp tone, "Niragi. Who's your boss?" Your brother opens his mouth and then closes it again. A low grumble radiates inside his chest as he tries to figure out how to handle this without making more of a scene. He gently turns you around to look at him, "I'm going to try to stay near you until the game is over, but if we get separated, run. Understand?" You suck a sharp, needling breath into your lungs, trying to steady yourself and nodding weakly to your brother.

He didn't know you had a weapon on you, and you hoped you wouldn't have to use it tonight.

Your hopes for an easy game were quickly dashed. Aguni's plan was a nice one, in theory, but it turns out that even big, tough Militants have a penchant for freaking out and dispersing as quickly as they can when they're being chased down by a bloodthirsty tiger. A tiger, which by the way, is much much larger in real life than you could have ever imagined.

You'd lost Niragi and Last Boss almost instantaneously; your father just grinning away dnagerously beside you as you make your way deeper into the park. Of course he wasn't afraid of the animals. Neither was the man really attempting to hunt the predators closing in on you. He was attempting to hunt you. You feel your pulse racing quickly in your throat; Aguni had served you up to him on a silver platter. Intentionally? You weren't sure of the man's motives anymore.

Niragi's instructions echoed through your head, "Run." You don't think twice about it before bolting off in the opposite direction of where you'd originally been heading, sneakers pounding the cracked pavement path straight to the fun house that had always scared you when you were little. You're lucky in a way, your father is slow; but still trotting after you inevitably.

Red and black velvet curtains cascade around the lobby, the breeze from your sudden entrance causing them to billow mockingly. Your hands shake slightly as you draw the heavy metal of your pistol out of your pocket; it wasn't going to be a matter of if your father found you in here, but when.

Pushing your way gently through one of the red curtains, you make an attempt to keep the curtain from giving away which direction you'd initially chosen. Your journey through the house begins with a pitch black room. With both hands held out in front of you, you feel around for the wall. Niragi had always taught you to try to follow the right-hand wall to quickly navigate your way through the maze. For whatever reason, your hand comes into contact accidentally with something breakable. A vase? Glass shatters around you as the object clatters to the floor, your entire body jolting with surprise at the loud sound contrasting the silence that had been surrounding you like a cloak.

The curtain you'd come through is ripped open violently, nearly being yanked from its track with the force and allowing a small amount of light from the lobby to filter into the pitch black space. The silhouette of your father is backlit, and you leap quickly away from where the light would allow him to see you. Taking the advantage of having seen a little bit ahead, you run as silently as possible toward the next room, covering your mouth to be quiet.

"You must be so scared, huh, Butterfly? You've always hated these houses, ya used to cry and cry until your brother came to save you," your father tells you in mock nostalgia, "But Niragi isn't here to come save you now. What ever are you going to do?" You want to ignore his menacing voice, but what he's said is true - Niragi wasn't going to be able to help you here. He'd almost certainly never find you in time. With a deep breath through your nose, you proceed into the next hallway, a skinny room housing a black metal bridge.

Your left hand grips tightly onto the railing, causing the room around you to illuminate in neon purples, oranges, and greens; the colors swirling quickly around the bridge like a vortex. A spinning tunnel - an element that is intended to confuse your brain and body, making it feel as though the bridge itself was moving under your feet. You inhale one more steadying breath, taking your time crossing the bridge one step at a time. You're just about 3/4 of the way over the bridge when you hear your father grousing about how dizzy these things make him. Your head turns to watch him start to cross the bridge too, the man staggering and stumbling along as his brain is confused. If you weren't nearly paralyzed in fear, you'd probably laugh at his expense. Closing your eyes tight the rest of the way, you surge forward to get off the bridge and into the next room, only to feel your body instantly plummeting through the darkness.

You can't help the yelp of surprise turned to terror as you fall a few feet before landing in a pit of plastic with a crash. Dim lighting surrounds you when you open your eyes - you've landed in a ball pit at least the size of a normal swimming pool. If your memory serves you correctly, you'd usually start crying for Niragi right about now, as the balls have always made you feel claustrophobic. Not today though. You start swimming through the material, trying to get as close to the ladder that will lift you out of this colorful prison before your father catches up.

The man does catch up, canon-balling without hesitation into the pool of plastic now only a couple of feet away from you. You make the decision to go underneath the surface of the balls in some sort of attempt to camouflage yourself. You swim along for a few moments, terror building quickly in your chest, as though you are really underneath the water in a pool. You look up briefly to see the ladder nearly within arm's reach, but see no sign of your father behind you. Fuck.

Just as your hand reaches up for the ladder, a hand grabs firmly onto your ankle dragging you back away from it. You shriek, unable to hold your terror inside any further, kicking away at your father as hard as you can. "Aww, what's wrong? You don't like playing hide and seek anymore?" his cruel voice teases. No the fuck you do not.

With your father towering over you, hand still wrapped around your left ankle, you bring your right foot up to kick him hard in the nose. With a sickening crack, he cries out, bringing both hands to his face that's already pouring blood. You waste no time in jumping for the ladder and scampering away from the man as he screams violent obscenities at you.

The whimsical lights dance across the maze of mirrors now placed in front of you, and you take a deep breath to try and settle your nerves. It had been a bad idea to willingly allow yourself to become disoriented by this not so fun house, but you had to try to lose your father somehow. And at the very least, in here, the roaming beasts were likely not an additional variable stacked against you.

You feel your stomach swirl in nausea as you step into the seemingly circular room, surrounding yourself with mirrors on all sides. You catch your reflection in one of them, noticing how terrified and sick you look, even in the distorted picture.

"Come on, Butterfly. You don't need to keep running. I won't hurt you," his sickening voice calls, echoing through the previous room. You begin lightly touching each of the mirrors, your reflection getting distorted in different crazy ways, trying to find your way forward in silence. When your hand finally doesn't catch glass, you sprint forward to the next room, a series of strobe lights cascading over you.

The difficulty had escalated quickly, white light blinding as it is reflected off of the hallway filled with more disorienting mirrors. You creep along the right side of the hall, attempting to rule out each mirror being the next exit that you're looking for. Your head snaps to your left, noticing one of the black velvety curtains rustling. You bring your left hand up to cover your mouth, to keep yourself from screaming in terror.

A brief glance into the mirror next to you shows something you don't want to see, your father's face appearing over your shoulder. You spin around fast, dizzying yourself unwillingly to face him as a bullet whizzes past your face and shatters the glass behind you. You do scream now, dropping to the floor and crawling along the hallway attempting in desperation to find a way out.

Bullets cascade around the overstimulating room, lights flashing in every direction and broken glass pelting the floor all around you. You don't know how many mirrors have been broken, but your father will definitely have bad luck for a long time. Finally, you're able to find the edge of a different curtain, yanking yourself through to get away from the murderous psycho behind you. Leaning up against something sturdy in the darkened room, you attempt to catch your breath. Even in your wildest dreams about your father, you'd never faced something as terrifying than this.

"You little brat! I should have taken care of you long ago - you deserve this you know!" His voice rings out, seemingly surrounding you on all sides and threatening to suffocate you.

Those words. You deserve this. You feel the tension in your mind finally snap, as though you were a dry twig in the forest being bent over and over. The cloudy, swirling darkness you held repressed deep down inside snakes out easily and takes over your entire body. No longer are you scared. No longer is your breathing uneven and forced. Because no. No the fuck you did not deserve this. You never had. You never would. Fuck. This. Fuck him.

Your dark eyes glisten with the fire of your rage, ripping the curtain back open and firing your pistol haphazardly back into the flashing room. You don't expect to kill him, nor do you even expect to hit him. But you DO expect to send a message - I'm done. Be very afraid of what you've created. I have a fucking weapon.

You hear your father groan in pain over the sound of more mirrors shattering, his bulky form dropping to the floor. Relief floods you, that at least one of your shots had hit him. As you study him on the floor from your place in the corner, definitely injured but not at risk of dying, your eyes catch on one of the spaces that reflects light differently, walking casually through the doorway and out into the open night air.

Blood courses loudly in your ears, the rage you feel threatening to bubble up in the form of more violence. Your teeth are clenched so hard that your jaw may snap, the pistol clasped tightly between both hands. You move slowly, calculatedly through the amusement park, listening for sounds of movement. You can vaguely hear screaming and talking from other areas, but nothing in your immediate vicinity.

You needed to find someone other than your father. Because if he found you again, you knew you would finish the job. You weren't yourself right now.

It's then that you hear a commotion from behind a row of colorful ginko trees and decide to approach, holding your silver pistol confidently between both hands. Your eyes widen to find Niragi on the ground wrestling a feral looking black panther, his rifle having skidded across the pavement too far for him to reach.

You know you should feel scared, worried about your brother. But instead you feel the eerie prickle of calm bubbling under your skin, I can handle this. Your eyes narrow as you focus on the massive feline, raising your weapon with steady hands. With one level breath out, you shoot the beast directly between the eyes, never once hesitating to worry that you'd hit Niragi, not wavering for even a second. The cat falls, your brother quickly pushing it off of him and scrambling to retrieve his fallen rifle. The man shoots the beast again, a second and third time, for good measure before looking up to you in surprise.

You're already walking away from him by the time he calls out your name, "Where the fuck did you get that?" When you answer him with silence and continue walking along the path towards the ferris wheel, he yells again while jogging to catch up, "What the fuck?" You turn slowly to look at him, eyes black. "I just saved your fucking life, does it really matter?" You ask in a monotone voice. Hand on your shoulder, your brother looks at you, really looks at you, studying your expression and your darkened eyes. Recognizing your darkness. He simply shakes his head with a tired sigh, falling into step beside you. He understands now.

[Game Clear - Congratulations] The rest of the group must have well and truly carried your team today, given that the only thing you'd taken down was the panther Niragi was tangled up with and your father, who was not on the scoreboard.

As you're about to leave the amusement park property, your brother stops and holds his hand towards you, waiting. You look up at him, he can't be serious. But the look he's giving you is very serious. "Give it to me," he says in a hushed tone bringing his face just inches from yours ensuring you really see him, "Let it go. The darkness doesn't suit you."

Biting the inside of your cheek, you want to call him a hypocrite. But Niragi is right, you don't think it suits you either. You don't want to be like your father. Like him. You pull the pistol out of your pocket and place it gingerly in his hand before continuing your languid walk back to the car.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Hatter isn't happy that the entire Militant faction plus The Beach's Princess had been wasted on a repeat game. He's also pissed that his precious friend Katashi was brought back to the resort unconscious and bleeding, much to your dismay. How had someone even found him?

Niragi had side-eyed you in shock and pride when Aguni and another guy carried your injured father into the room, desperately wishing to know what he had done to you that had finally made you snap at the theme park. You'd simply stared through the older man, emotionless face barely flickering in acknowledgment.

Suddenly the room has erupted into absolute chaos - Hatter, Aguni, and Niragi all yelling at each other about different things. How long it was taking to collect all the cards. The imbalance of power between Executives and Militants - that the latter were bearing all the weight of keeping The Beach running. Your father being brought to The Beach in the first place. You realized in this moment that the power struggle you'd been warned about was starting to come to fruition and you worry that at least one of the three will end up dead tonight. Chishiya guides you away from the conflict, taking his hand in yours and pulling you to the elevator.

When the both of you make it back to Niragi's room, Chishiya pulls your chin to rest on his chest, hands coming to cup your cheeks as he studies you with concerned eyes, "What happened out there? Are you hurt?" You shake your head, eyes glancing to the bed to avoid his direct gaze. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet, Shiya," you tell him in a small voice. The man nods in understanding, holding your head against his chest as he squeezes you tight and presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You're so mentally and emotionally exhausted from the night that you fall asleep almost as soon as Chishiya begins reading to you, wrapped tightly in your mother's blanket and head laid heavily in the man's lap. You don't know how long you're allowed to sleep before Niragi is in front of you, shaking you awake again. You blink your eyes blearily up at him, not super thrilled about being woken back up, least of all by him. "Is this important?" you demand crankily.

Your brother reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, flashing your pistol at you. "I'm giving this back to you because unfortunately I'm afraid you're going to need it. But don't make me remind you what will happen if you're caught with it here," he says with an exhausted sigh.

They'll make me kill you.

You nod in tired understanding, taking the cold metal into your hands tentatively without a word as your brother proceeds to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Your eyes study the shining metal for a moment, the weapon reminding you of all that had happened tonight and causing a wave of nausea to wash over you. Chishiya must see a certain look cross your face, because he sets his book down on the nightstand and runs his fingers through your hair for comfort. "Okay, baby?" he asks, caressing his other thumb over your cheek and making your eyes heavy again. "I will be," you smile gently up at the man, taking his hand in yours as his other hand continues stroking your hair.

When the lights are finally turned off for the night and the men on either side of you have fallen asleep, your suddenly wide awake brain makes a bold decision.

You know that if Niragi pulls the trigger on your father, it would be the final step - he would finally plummet fully into darkness with no hope of being saved. You couldn't let that happen. You were still angry with your brother; you wanted to hate him for hurting you. But watching the way he's been since your father returned, you know he is still redeemable. And you. You had snapped tonight, had let your darkness fully take control and take care of a situation.

You deserve this, you know.

You know you don't. You know Niragi doesn't. And it isn't fair for Niragi to continue carrying all of the burden on his own. Your brother has sacrificed everything for you. It was your turn to sacrifice for him - to save him. From your father, from himself. It had to be you.

You were determined now, when it came down to it, and it would - you would be the one to kill your father.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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[devilw-rites]

Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls

Tags: switch!Matt Murdock x switch!Reader, Reader is being horny and fantasizing a lot (bondage & pegging), Matt is a voyeur, Foggy is an innocent bystander. (2,767 words).

Being a paralegal under your husband's and his best friend's law firm seems like a dream come true, but sometimes the close proximity gets to you and Matt. (Read on ao3!)

The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.

You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.

Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.

“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could.

“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.

“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.

Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.

You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.

Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up.

At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.

You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.

Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.

You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him.

An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.

With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.

“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.

“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.

You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.

“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”

God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.

Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”

“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.

You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about.

“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.

You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were.

Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.

“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.

“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.

“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.

Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.

You were too, but for a totally different reason.

Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.

Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.

You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.

Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.

You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time.

Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.

It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.

Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.

Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.

The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.

“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.

“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.

“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”

Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.

While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.

“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”

“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Could you write a hero who's broke af but is at the villians mansion taking care of them and despite being broke af they get every medicine every grocery villian requires and villian just breaks? Also, vil calls hero 'love'

The villain was where the hero had left them - on the couch, staring at the black screen of their TV.

"Did you know — this will blow your mind — that you can actually turn that thing on?" When the villain turned their head to look at them, the hero pointed at the hilariously large screen. "Or so I've been told."

"Is that so?" The villain's attention came back to the screen and the hero couldn't help but wonder if the villain's misery was growing from day to day.

The hero knew their nemesis loved to be active. They loved exercising, they loved causing trouble.

But ever since the house arrest and the ankle monitor was put on them, they had acted nearly depressed. If the hero hadn’t known them, they would have guessed it was due to their injuries.

A very messed up clavicle and a horribly cracked ankle were just two components of the entire cruel picture of bruises. According to the city, the hero was "the only person strong enough to detain" the villain.

Which didn't really bother the hero as much as the media wanted the public to believe. Hell, there were even petitions for people to sign to "protect" the hero from this incredibly dangerous mission that felt more like a vacation than anything to the hero themselves.

"You look tired," the hero said. "Would you like to take a nap?"

They left the groceries in the dining room and walked up to the couch but the villain was silent. Their eyes were still staring at the dark reflection of themselves. Without hesitation, the hero sat down next to them and debated if they should try to put their hand on the villain's thigh to comfort them.

Against their better judgment, they decided not to.

"You've been looking at that TV for like…30 minutes?" the hero said instead. "Have you eaten the breakfast I made for you?"

They hadn't. The hero had checked - but it didn't seem to matter. The villain didn't say anything.

"Look, I understand this isn't what you wanted. But I am trying to take care of you as best as I can. If you have any problems with your shoulder or if there's something else..."

Suddenly, the villain turned their head and looked at the hero. Under their eyes, the spreading dark circles were a little too visible to the hero.

"I..." The villain sounded absolutely exhausted. "I had this nightmare again."

"The one with me?"

"Yeah, but it was different, it's...ah, forget about it, love. It's stupid," the villain said. They leaned back against the pillows of the couch and closed their eyes as if they were concentrating on something.

However, the hero did notice the soft blush on their cheeks.

"That's for me to determine."

"It's really stupid." The villain looked at them again and when the hero looked into their eyes, they were sure they would have missed the villain's next words. Almost embarrassed, they stared at their own hands. Getting lost in the villain's eyes came a little too easy to them. It wasn't like the hero wanted or provoked it. It just happened. And there was nothing they could do about it.

After all, this was their job. They were getting paid to be here, even though it left them with a really bad aftertaste. Somewhere deep down, they wished they could have done this without receiving payment in the first place. For the sake of compassion.

"Stupid is okay," the hero said. "I think talking about it could help, I think...I think you carry a lot of stuff around and never got to share it with anyone. That's why it is gnawing on you. Especially now that you're injured and rely on someone else."

"You're my enemy, so I shouldn't tell you in the first place," the villain argued.

"Your dream was about me, so technically-" the hero raised an index finger "-I have the right to know about it."

The villain narrowed their eyes. "That's not how it works, love."

If the villain didn't want to talk, the hero supposed they couldn't make them. Obviously, they were familiar with a lot of interrogation techniques but the villain was neither a suspect nor a threat at the moment. The hero sighed softly.

Work occupied their own mind to a nearly worrying degree. Money was a big issue, big enough to give them troubles with falling asleep at night. They guessed that was their own little package to carry around.

But they didn't think it was comparable to the villain's. What they had read in the reports about their childhood...eventually, the hero had stopped reading because it was too painful to even grasp.

"I, uh...got you some stuff. Some medicine, some cookies. Nothing big, really."

The villain's eyes widened.

"Did you pay with the cash I put on the table for you?"

"No, I used my credit card," the hero said. "Wait, just let me..."

They stood up, grabbed the grocery bag and sat down on the carpet of the living room, right in front of the villain. They unpacked every single item carefully and explained how heroically they had fought for the last box of chocolates (which wasn't nearly as dramatic as they framed it to be) or how they nearly died of a heart attack when their card got declined the first time (they merely sweated a little bit more).

"You bought all of this for me?" The villain stared at the chocolates, the painkillers. It seemed like their fingers were shaking a little.

"Well, I wouldn't mind if you shared."

And then, finally, the villain smiled gently.

"You're so stupid." Before the hero knew it, their enemy's fingers pushed hair out of the hero's vision. "You should have used the cash, love."

The hero stared up at them, one of their arms still in the sling, the other still hovering there, their fingers brushing the hero's jawline.

"I wanted to buy this for you. With my own money," the hero said. No. They admitted it. "I know it's not much, but I wanted to make you a little happier."

"I'm not unhappy here with you," the villain said. "You don't make me unhappy. This dream was just a lot and my shoulder really fucking hurts. That's all."

They pulled away and suddenly, the hero felt a little colder. Once again, they feared this wasn't all there was to it.

But it also wasn't their place to poke around.

"Tell me if there is anything I can do for you, though. Okay?"

"I will," the villain said. The hero stood up, not entirely sure if they were actually helpful. They were good at tending wounds but the villain had problems with asking for help. They were good at cooking but the villain didn't seem to have any appetite. They took in a deep breath and before they could reach for the groceries, the villain grabbed their hand. "Okay, I...I kissed you in my dream."

The hero's eyebrows jumped up. "Oh?"

"And it's scaring me. I can't afford those feelings. I can't...I shouldn't want you."

"Shouldn't?"

"I shouldn't." The villain let go and stood up. They cleared their throat. "Eh...do you need help with the groceries?"

And that was the end of that conversation.

For now.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Fixing Bad Dreams

masterlist

summary: without even realizing, you’ve been using your powers to turn butcher’s bad dreams into good ones.

pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, talk of sex

timeline: set after season 3

gif source

When Butcher had realized you were a Supe, obviously his first thought was that he had to kill you. But he soon realized you weren’t like the others. Not in a “oh she’s still a good person” way, but in a “wow she’s fucking weak, she’s basically still human” way. It was true. Essentially all you could do was send telepathic messages to people. That was it. (You also had a slight healing factor, but even that wasn’t very strong.) You couldn’t read minds, you couldn’t move things with your mind, you were barely a Supe.

Or, maybe he was just trying to justify sleeping with you. Whether he’d admit it or not, he really liked sleeping with you. Not just the sex, he liked physically sleeping next to you. With you. He’d sleep best when it was next to you. He wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat, he wouldn’t have nightmares about watching his wife die bloody.

Most of the time, you woke up before him. You’d find his shirt from the night before and put it on, along with your panties if you could find them. Although, Butcher tended to rip your more delicate ones.

As you tiptoed around the room looking for where he had thrown your underwear you heard him mumble something in his sleep. You hurried next to him, his brows furrowed as he clenched the sheets in tight fists.

You held his cheek, bent down, and kissed his forehead. That always calmed him right down, you didn’t know why. And it did just that; he unclenched his fists, unfurrowed his brows, and let out a soft breath of air.

You smiled at the thought. The great William Butcher like forehead kisses in his sleep. That’s what calmed him down.

He stirred awake shortly after, seeing you looking around the room still.

“Mornin’ love,” He yawned. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“Good morning,” You smiled and walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed. “You sleep okay?” You ran a hand through his hair then down his cheek, stopping to bend down and kiss him sweetly.

“Great, love,” He smiled. “Was havin’ a bit of a nightmare but it turned into us making out in the office the other day.”

“Really?” You furrowed your brows a little.

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh…no reason,” You shook your head a little.

“So, what were you looking for?” He asked, intentionally changing the subject.

“Where the hell did you throw my panties last night?” You asked, turning to glance around the room. He reached under his pillow and pulled out what you’d been looking for.

“I may have hid ‘em so you’d make me breakfast without wearin’ ‘em,” He smirked.

“All you had to do was ask,” You smiled. You leaned down and kissed him again before you stood up. “Bacon and eggs ‘ll be ready in a few minutes, come meet me in the kitchen?”

“I’ll be right there.”

**

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” Butcher chuckled a few days later. You walked up to him cooking pancakes, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Smells amazing,” You hummed. You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

As you sat down at the table you let out a soft laugh.

“Okay, seriously, why’re you in such a good mood?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You shrugged.

“Cause the A/C stopped working halfway through the night and we both lost a good two hours of sleep?” He raised a brow.

“Remember last summer? We went to that water park with Hughie and the others after the tests came back negative and you were cancer free?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He turned to look at you fully, suddenly very interested in each word you said.

“After the A/C went out I had the best, most intense dream about it! I mean, the smell of the chlorine in the wave pool, the sound of those birds that kept trying to take your fries, everything!”

“Huh…I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Butcher mumbled, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“What?”

“Nothin’ love, I remember that day too.”

**

Grass so green it looked fake, the sky so blue and clouds so perfect it all looked like a Bob Ross painting. Birds chirped in the trees as Butcher dipped down and kissed you again.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” He smiled. He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, under your floral dress.

A picnic in the park with William Butcher. A fucking dream come true.

The cruel sound of the alarm jolted you awake. Butcher stretched his arm out and over you, hitting the snooze button.

“Perfect fucking timing,” He grumbled. “I think I was about to get lucky.”

“Me too, actually,” You laughed a little. “Guess we’ll have to make it up to each other.”

**

“Hey, let’s eat breakfast outside,” Butcher suggested.

“You hate eating outside?” You laughed a little. You took a sip of your coffee as you watched Butcher cook breakfast.

“Don’t be silly! On occasion, picnics can be fun!”

“P-Picnics?” You furrowed your brows. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just a dream I had.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Were you putting thoughts in his head? Messing with his dreams enough that it influenced his life when he was awake? How else were you messing with his head?

“Earth to Y/n!” Butcher pulled you out of your head.

“Huh?”

“I said food’s ready. Now, c’mon, get off your ass and eat outside with me.”

“Okay,” You smiled, hiding how worried you actually were.

You followed him out to the balcony overlooking the busy city.

“So what was your dream?” He asked when you both sat down at the outside table.

“Wh-What dream?” You asked.

“Remember? We both woke up to the alarm, both said we were about to get lucky in our dreams, and then we had earth-shattering morning sex. So, what was your dream?”

“I- I don’t really remember it…now all I’m thinking about is the earth-shattering morning sex,” You smirked a little.

“Ah ha!” He matched your expression, but added a sense of pride. “That’s my job, love.”

**

“Butcher, we need to talk,” You said later that night. He was ready for bed and already under the covers.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows knitted with concern.

“I- I don’t think I sh-should sleep with you anymore,” You replied, tears in your eyes.

“You’re breaking up with me? Why?”

“No! I- I fucking love you and that why I need to get as far away from you as fucking possible!”

“Y/n, you’re not makin’ any sense,” He got out of bed and walked up to you. You backed away from him, shaking your head.

“I- I’ve been- I think I’ve been messing with your h-head somehow,” You let the tears fall. “Not on purpose, I swear! But I- I’ve been controlling your dreams, so who knows how else I’ve been controlling you!”

“I know about the dreams.”

“What?”

“I figured it out a couple weeks ago. You were going into detail about a dream you had the night before, and it was the same dream I had.”

“Why didn’t you say something! Butcher I could be completely controlling you! You probably don’t even really want to fucking be here! Fuck!” You put your hands on your head.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to act how you’re acting right now. I knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me your dream.”

“B-But what if…”

“What if what, Y/n? You really think you could accidentally force me to love you?” He took a few steps closer to you, this time you didn’t back away. You nodded. “Alright, how ‘bout this. Right now, try your absolute hardest to make me do something.” He put his hands on your shoulders and touched his forehead to yours. “Go on, use your powers on me.”

“I’m trying!” You exclaimed. You really were, but he was right; you weren’t nearly strong enough to mind-control someone. You let out a breath of relief. “Fuck, that would’ve been a fucking nightmare!”

“Well, good thing that’s your specialty then, love. Turning nightmares into the best fuckin’ dreams I could ask for.”

“I love you, Butcher,” You smiled and he did the same.

“I love ya, too,” He mumbled as he kissed your lips.

[thesharktanksdriver]

(English learning anon. Sorry for long ask)

Dante bringing heads of demons in Devil may cry not because he's bored but because he wants to show love towards Honeypie and his demon instinkts are kicking in.

Dante's simp ass definadly at least once hugged Honeypie from behind when they were doing something like they're a couple(probably happened when Honeypie lived with him and were cooking breakfast).

Does Dante have dreams of Honeypie? Like, imagine he has the most gut-wrencing nightmares sandwiched between domestic dreams of him and Honeypie as a maried couple.

Dante and Honeypie have a spare keys to each others house's and Honeypie from time to time comes to Devil may cry in early mornings with eather already prepared breakfast or cooks it in there so Dante would eat something other than pizzas and strawberry sundaes.

If Nero and Honeypie will get the adoption papers imagine how awkward it would be for V and Vergil because that boy whose arm he tore off not only has 50/50% being his nephew or son but is officialy adoptive son of his object of adoration he had since his 19. Probably V will know about it when he was living with Honeypie.

Speaking of Vergil his personality after his "rebirth" is more opened like he is with Comandant in punishing: gray raven colab (he likes Honeypie in every universe (you can skip this -->) (i have an idea/headcanon that every character in fiction that represents a person behind the screen (us) are alternative versions of each other because they're literaly the same, for example: Yuu from Disney: Twisted Wonderland, MC from Obey me!, literaly every reader insert in fanfiction, Nameless hero/our man/our friend from Attack on Titan 2 and Comandant from mentioned above Punishing: gray raven)(sorry for dumping it here)).

If Urizen will see Honeypie he would immediantly gently pick them up in his hands and snuggle to his face, purring(which would sound more like rumble/tractor because his purr mechanism is huge. Dante and Vergil's purrs sound lower than those of normal cats)

Imagine Dante bought Honeypie strawberry scented shampoo and when they hug he turns into a vacuum cleaner.

No worries about long asks! I don’t mind at all, in fact I love that yall feel comfortable enough and like my stuff enough to have questions!

As for the first one yes he absolutely brings demons head because his demonic side interprets it as “showing off for potential mate”. He does this under the excuse of it seeming cool but he really doesn’t want to admit to Honeypie let alone himself that his demonic instincts really kick in overdrive when he’s trying to impress them or get their attention constant

Another yes is he definitely does the hugging from behind when Honeypie cooks for him. It’s cliche as hell but he loves it to death for the sheer closeness and mirage of domestic bliss it gives him alongside it remind of back when his parents were still around. I like to think Dante gets a lot of his clingy affection from Sparda and this is a prime example of it. Both he and Vergil used to be nauseated by how lovely dovey their parents were but now Dante understands it whole heartedly. Along with this he also yells out the cliche “honey I’m home” thing as both an affectionate greeting and a way to tease Honeypie with the nickname they loath once more lol.

Another definite yes! Dante absolutely dreams about Honeypie in both good and bad scenarios. I personally headcanon that Dante suffers a lot from nightmares even later on in his life due to all the unprocessed trauma and grief he’s experienced. Thus it cause many nightmares in return. Honeypie is a subject of which is common for him, specifically scenarios of what if he wasn’t able to save them during the temen-ni-Gru, what if Vergil or Arkham killed th or they simply died from their injuries instead of survive as they had. It haunts him like all his other failures of Gru and Nell. And every time he startles awake and has to remind himself that they’re still alive, that this once when it mattered most he was able to save them. But sprinkled with all the nightmares are occasional good dreams too. Their rather simple ones, sometimes it’s just laying in bed with HP, morning light trickling in as they lay in his arms or times it’s them enjoying a movie on the couch with them nestled up against him occasionally giving a teasing kiss on the crook of his neck. They’re all rather simple and mundane but that’s what he likes about these dreams, he feels like he can just be Dante with them. He’s not tony Redgrave, hell he’s not even Dante son of Sparda, he’s just Dante. The Dante his parents would’ve wanted to see living life normally and in peace, something he can only obtain in dreams and in the small moments of bliss with someone who makes it possible to feel completely and utterly human.

Both definitely have spare keys to each others homes but that’s mostly because A) HP works at dmc which is Dante’s home and B) after the tower incident Dante isn’t taking chances. HP mostly uses the key to get there in the early mornings to do paperwork and sometimes cook for Dante or clean before he’s up.

lol yep definitely would be awkward for V/Vergil that his crush of many many years officially adopted his son even before adding the whole arm thing. If V found the papers he’d be very happy but also internally kicking himself for his complete self’s utter mess he made in the process. I’m not sure if it’s official if V knew that Nero was his/vergils son but even if he didn’t I think he’d find the scenario to be quite touching especially since HP would talk a lot about Nero especially during that time due to their worry for him and his rushed recovery to deal with Urizen. They’d ramble a lot about him, from small things like how he always helps them carry groceries or gives them notes from kyrie so they can exchange recipes to how they initially met Nero and how despite being technically adopted by kyrie and credos parents he was never really their son or apart of the family in a familiar way compared to how he’s admitted he feels with HP and that they feel like a genuine parent to him. It’s honestly really touching to V and his familiars even without the knowledge of Nero’s parentage and connection to them/Vergil.

No worries for info dumping! (Btw I really enjoy twst, I may try and make something for twisted wonderland in the future since I have a few idea in my head but that’s for another town or ask lol). From what I’ve seen from clips of the punishing grey raven collab (I’m waiting for it to come out on the North American server) he does seem a lot more open! Which honestly is how I interpret him after his return as well. Vergil in my mind after returning from hell with Dante is trying to reconnect with his humanity after so many years of denying it so he’s trying a bit more to be open and honest with both himself and others. However when it comes to Hp he kinda curls up and dies on himself lol. He isn’t really sure what to do especially after the whole ark thing so his response is to move at a snails pace in terms of emotionally reconnecting. It’s like his interactions with Nero in the menus, he’s awkwardly sitting there occasionally looking their way wanting to say something but the words completely dying in his throat and his confidence wasted lol. Poor man is trying his best.

Urizen though having affection for Honeypie due to him being half of Vergil is a lot less gentle, that went to V. As Vergils demonic side Urizen takes whereas V longs. Urizen doesn’t care for human conventions and certainly doesn’t really care for HP’s feelings in the matter since they’re an insignificant human compared to him. In his mind they should feel lucky that they’d garnered his attention despite their humanity and times they accidentally during the temen-ni-Gru made Vergil jealous of Dante. He’s not gentle about it in the slightest and doesn’t care for HP’s opinion in the matter while V is the complete opposite. As Vergils human half V cares genuinely for them past the rather surface level feelings that Urizen has for them. V sees Honeypie as an actual person and accounts for their feelings when making decisions. Their opinion matters to him as does their feelings since he wants them to genuinely feel love for him back, not just force his feelings on them without their consent or taking account of how them feel as Urizen would.

But as for the purring thing, yes Dante and Vergil purr like cats. Dante’s isn’t something he hides even if it is a hit embarrassing at times while Vergil will not acknowledge it at all. It’s probably the only thing of his demonic side besides the consistent urge to shower HP in affection to earn mates approval that he dislikes and dismisses. Dante’s purr is very deep and rumbly, if he’s purring and close by you can feel just how his chest rumbles with making the sounds. It’s also a bit distorted sounding due to how his demonic traits affect his body. Meanwhile Vergils is more quiet in comparison to Dante’s loud affection. It’s a blink and you’ll miss its kinda deal where he intentionally stops himself if he accidentally starts. HP only knows that it’s happened because they know Dante occasionally does it.

HP getting strawberry scented shampoo or general strawberry scented wash woudl be something they do implicitly. Like they just do it accidentally because they see it and their mind goes “hey Dante likes that��� and they shrug their shoulders and buy it lol. Dante would do a double take when he realizes and his brain and demon instincts go haywire in happiness. The mix of strawberry sweetness mixed with their natural scent makes his brain go brrrrrr. He makes a few comments here and there about how they smell good today. HP calls him a weirdo but notes to themself that it seems like he isn’t adverse to their new body wash or whatever. They were worried that it could override his senses since they know he’s much more sensitive to things like that due to the enhanced nature of his senses like smell. They’ve made a conscious effort through the years to try and be cautious of stronger smelling things or making particular foods without odd textures because of this.

[lurochar]

A Total Nightmare

You thought you and Alastor had a cordial relationship. You were so very wrong.

Warnings: Yandere!Alastor

--------------------------------

This had to be a bad, bad dream.

A total fucking nightmare.

“Oh, this is very real, Darling.” You felt cold hands run up your trembling arms in what you guessed was supposed to be a gesture to soothe you, calm you down, but it only made you shake even harder when those hands lightly traced along your throat in a teasing manner. 

Did you say that out loud?

Alastor seemed to sigh, but it just sounded mocking and completely condescending to your ears. “I suppose you could put a bit of blame on me for that. I apologize for that.” His grin, however, only seemed to turn even more chilling if that were possible as he stared down at your pitiful form held down by his cooing shadow. “It seems I have blinded both you and myself.”

“What…?” You tried to ignore the shadow’s hands trailing hungrily over your body, trying to keep your voice from cracking too much. “What does that mean?” You wanted to look away, feeling small and pathetic as the shadow kept you on your knees.

“Hmm, I was… puzzled as to why you have refused to give me your soul time and time again, but as amiable as I am, I simply let it be. I did not think you would stray away and offer your soul to just any Overlord.”

Huh?

What was he talking about?

“But I haven’t?!” You struggled in the hold of Alastor’s shadow and it let out a warning growl and you immediately tensed when you felt its icy cold hands tighten slightly around your throat with the tips of its claws barely pricking into the tender skin. “J-just tell me what you mean, Alastor!”

“But no more.” Alastor ignored your question as he eyed you manically. “After seeing you today, I am no longer satisfied. I am no longer content with the way things are. I want you, Darling. I̟͚͔ͭ͒̄͠n̨̦ͣ̉. Ȇ̫̤ͭͅv̱̚e̒r̩͍ͬ͋̎̕y̫̬̒ͥ. Wa͓͉ͭͣ̀̅́y̳̼ͦ̆. Po̳ͣsͣ̉s̟͕͕̫ib͓̖͒̒̇le͔͊.  You are mine. You will be mine. I simply need your soul. Now, that isn’t too much to ask, is it, my dearest Doe?”

What?

What brought this o–?

“Is this because of… of Lucifer today?” You asked incredulously, wincing at the screech of static so loud that your ears were still ringing that you didn’t even hear the snarl that came from Alastor’s shadow at the name.

“You allowed that deadbeat to kiss your hand.” Alastor could feel his form beginning to shift and he attempted to stop it. “It is as I said, things will not continue as they are. You will give me your soul here and now, or…”

You felt a tiny flicker of bravery.

“Or what?” You grimaced when the shadow nipped at you in reprimand, drawing blood and simply held you down even tighter, cooing at your terrified expression when Alastor lifted your head with his microphone cane to look up at his demonic face.

“With Charlie as the exception, I will s̢̊́͜l̸̪̫ͫ͒͢͞a͎͘u̬̝͇̫͒͡ǵ͓̱h̰t̅͒ͮe̱ͅr̥͙ each and every resident of this insufferable hotel. One by one, each waiting in terror, wondering if they will be next. And no, my dearest, I will not give them a merciful end, I will not make it quick. In fact, I may even broadcast their screams for all of Hell to hear!”

“But what about Husk and Niffty?” You asked, horrified by what you’re hearing.

“I’ll simply nullify their contracts and once they have their souls and whatever happiness that comes along with it, I’ll slaughter them too. What a shame, I certainly would miss Niffty, but if I must sacrifice her for you, my darling Doe, then I will do so in a cold dead heartbeat.” Alastor looked at you like he already knew your answer.

He did.

Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, but you couldn’t have the death of your friends on you like this, not if you could prevent it by… by– 

“I’ll give you my soul.”

Alastor was already pulling you to your feet and his shadow was wrapping around you, purring like an oversized kitten. “Excellent choice, dearest. I knew you would make the correct decision.” His smile was terrifying had it always looked that way? and his eyes gleamed with red that was so very sinister how have you never noticed this before?

Everything about Alastor was frightening once the contract was signed and you felt a thick green collar tighten around your throat, feeling suffocated when you noticed the glowing green chain held in Alastor’s hands.

“I have you now, my dearest Doe.” Alastor tugged the chain playfully and you let out a choked noise, having no choice but to stumble forward towards him. “You can never escape me now.”

  E̢̦̅̊v̧̿eř.

[just-j916]

The Nightmare That Won’t Leave

I wrote this as a continuation of my first fanfic: here!

I will make a part 2 for this one but for now, enjoy! :)

Word count: 768

Their nightmares from what had happened that night had been tormenting them ever since it first occurred. They have been trying to make them go away but to no avail. Each time the nightmares came back, they got worse and worse.

Tonight was no different when they woke up in a cold sweat next to Alphonse. The same dream. Derek mocking them. Saying how they were tainted now. How they were no good. How they had ruined themselves.

They slowly turned towards Alphonse to notice he was still asleep. Sighing, they got up and saw the time. 11:00. Damn, they barely slept an hour. They knew they needed to take a stroll to clear their head. Without much more thought, they walked downstairs and headed out their front door.

The night was quiet. The stars in the sky were bright. Snow everywhere they turned. They barely got any snow in their hometown, so it was nice to actually see some snow for a change.

As they were mindlessly walking they ran into someone. Without looking up, they apologized and kept on walking until—

“Sugar? What’re you doing out here?”

They realized that the person they ran into was Seth. They knew they’d have some explaining to do.

“Oh! Hey Seth! Fancy seeing you out here, Seth!” Boo laughed awkwardly, trying to sound as confident as they could.

“Well I was just headed back home to get some shut-eye. Pops told me that I had to close the shop early tonight, so here I am. Now what’re you doing out here?” Seth asked, a bit skeptical of how they were speaking.

“I was just taking a walk to clear my head. A lot has been on my mind lately,” they replied, looking away from him

“Well Sugar, did you wanna talk about it? I can be a damn good listener, y’know?” Seth wondered as he stepped closer towards Boo.

They honestly had no idea how they were gonna explain it to Seth. Hell, they haven’t even told Alphonse about the nightmares and he was their boyfriend. To Boo, it seemed more overwhelming to talk about it than to just say what’s going on outright.

“Sure, that would actually be nice. But can we sit down to talk about it?” Boo questioned looking at Seth.

Seth gave them a soft smile while nodding before finding them a bench to sit on while they talked.

“So sweetheart, what’s been going on? Is it something serious?” Seth said, worried about what had happened and was preparing for the worst.

“Well… um… remember when I shot Derek awhile back?” Boo asked as they looked at their palms. Seth nodded, giving them the go-ahead to keep to keep talking.

“I’ve been having these vivid nightmares about that night. It gets worse each time it happens and…” They paused for a second trying to gather their thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Sugar. Take your time.” Seth reassured them, slowly rubbing their back.

“In every single nightmare, it’s just Derek. He’s mocking me. Saying I’m a bad person. That I’m tainted. That I’m no better than him. He won’t leave me alone for one night. I just want it to go away…” without even realizing it, tears were falling down their face as they explained their nightmares to Seth.

As soon as he noticed the tears, Seth was quick to give Boo a hug. He knew the feeling all too well. The nightmares. Wanting them to go away. He knew.

“I’m so sorry, Sugar. Why haven’t you said anything? Speaking of, have you told Alphonse about any of this?” Seth asked as he slightly pulled away from the hug. Boo shook their head, knowing what he was going to say next.

“Sweetheart, you should tell him. I promise you, it would help so much telling him than bottling it up like this. Believe me, I know a thing or two about that.” Seth smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Boo smiled, pulling away from the hug and pulling Seth up from the bench. As the two walked side-by-side, Seth realized something.

“Sugar, does Alphonse know you’re out here?”

Boo’s heart dropped realizing that they, in fact, did not tell Alphonse where they were going.

They knew they were in for a long lecture.

[angelpuns]

50au part 26

When Leo woke, it was with a throbbing pain in his leg ( big shocker ) and a faint memory of the nightmare he'd had. 

He sat up as quickly as his aching muscle would allow it, glancing around the room.for evidence that it had been real. Because it had felt so, so real. 

His leg ached, sure, but it wasn't concrete enough. His room was dark, but everything seemed to be in place. His TV was still on his desk, where he'd moved it on a whim a few days ago. His bed was still halfway made and there were no green, shadowy mutants in the corner of his room. Even the step stool was gone. 

The camera! Leo squinted at the corner of the room, but there was nothing. Just darkness. 

“Holy shit I'm losing it…” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The TV flickered on a moment later, Leo only jumping a little bit. 

It was dark for a moment before a hand pulled away and a mutant - a turtle mutant - in bright orange grinned into the camera. 

“ Good Morning, Leo! You probably don't know who I am, but don't panic! First of all, there's water and medicine on your nightstand for your pain,” The turtle said cheerily. Leo glanced at his nightstand. Sure enough, there was two pills and a glass of water. 

Leo didn't like this, but he fought back the panic. Something was happening here, clearly, but his nightmare had been just that. A nightmare. Because there wasn't a shred of physical evidence it had actually happened, save for the weird TV shit happening and the water and meds. Which was still scary and weird, but not nearly as bad as the camera. 

“ don't panic, okay? I'll explain everything!” The turtle grinned. He seemed to be a bit nervous. That bothered Leo, but he kept watching. Because hopefully whatever this guy said would make sense and would clue him into what the hell was going on. 

“ So, like 4 or 5 days ago you were cursed, by a witch! Specifically a witch from witch town? And we all totally thought it was a dud, but it turns out that she actually curse you to forget all your memories of your family - that's us!” the turtle rambled on, “its kind of like 50 First dates, and you’re Drew Barrymore. I know that makes more sense then my explanation, except its not really a brain thing, its more like a mystical thing. Anyway, today we're going to help you get your memory back, by washing away the curse!”

The turtle leaned off screen for a moment, seemingly murmuring to someone else. 

“ oh, yes, and if we have to put you to sleep or something, we will. But we really don't want to, so please, please cooperate, okay?” 

The turtle gave him a wink and started to turn the camera off, before a voice off screen muttered something and he suddenly stepped back, “ oh, right!” 

“ I'm Mikey, and Raph and Donnie are here too! And we're your brothers! And we love you so much and-”

“Okay, Mikey, that's enough, he gets the point” someone off screen said, and Mikey chuckled. 

“Okay, here's a montage and a message from Donnie! Love you lots!” he added, before the video shut off and was replaced with a montage of pictures and video clips of- of Leo. Leo and some.other turtle mutants he’d never seen before. 

And the most shocking and horrific thing was that the purple turtle mutant from his dream was there too. He swallowed down the panic that made him feel. Because that was a lot of evidence that his nightmare had been real. And that these guys were evil and going to something to him and- 

The montage ended and the purple turtle appeared on the screen. He looked tired. But he didn't look as menacing as he had in Leo's dream, and  he didn't even look injured. From what Leo remembered, he'd punched this guy hard enough to break something. But he looked fine.

So it- it had to be a dream, right? 

“ ‘Nardo, I’m sure you're really confused and scared and- and you can't possibly believe us, but I promise you we're not going to hurt you,” He started, sighing deeply, “ I am not going to hurt you. We just want to get rid of this curse and- and if for some reason we can't and you're stuck like this…then we’ll figure something else out. But we are not going to hurt you, I promise. So please cooperate and let us help you, okay?” 

The video flickered off, and Leo was left alone in his dark, silent room. 

He let out a shaky breath. He knew they were probably waiting on him out there. Maybe with weapons or some kind of evil plan. 

Or maybe they were just waiting to see if he was going to hear them out. 

He honestly didn't know if he believed it. Any of it. Because the dream had seemed so real, and he knew his own memories. He trusted his memories. But…

Leo looked down at his hands. He really didn't have a choice but to trust them.

---

My back still hurts and I wrote this one last night as well so I don't have much to say bout it. Hope y'all enjoy tho <3333

part 1 | part 25 | Part 27

[brattyfics]

Swampbound II

Adla shot up from sleep, jolted by the sound of something heavy dragging outside. The old porch creaked under the weight, those worn boards groaning like they were telling her to stay inside. For a heartbeat, she thought it was just a remnant of a bad dream. But then it came again—slow, deliberate shuffling, as if someone was moving through the dark with purpose.

She kicked off the sheet, her bare feet gliding over the cool floorboards. Reaching for the shotgun, she crept to the window, quiet as a whisper in the night. Pulling the curtain back just a crack, she squinted into the gloom.

A figure loomed large, hunched over, moving as though it was in pain.

The wolf?

No, that shape was all wrong. Its movements were jerky, struggling to stay upright. Then she spotted it—clawed hands gripping the railing, barely managing to hold on. Her breath caught as the figure slumped, twisting and warping in a way that made her skin crawl.

The truth slammed into her, sharp and unforgiving.

This wasn’t just any wolf.

Adla tightened her grip on the shotgun, heart pounding in her chest. Every instinct told her to retreat, but something gnawed at her—a pull she couldn’t explain. The stories whispered through the town—tales of beastly protectors and vengeful spirits—had always danced at the edges of her mind, but tonight, with this strange presence lurking outside, those old myths felt like a warning.

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just a man, and it sure as hell wasn’t just a wolf.

Fear gripped her as the shadow twisted, revealing the shape of a man. She blinked, praying to wake from a nightmare, but when her eyes opened, it was still there. The dried pool of blood pooling beneath him turned her stomach.

What kind of trouble had she stumbled into?

Piercing blue-green eyes, both wild and human, locked onto hers through the dim light. She gasped, every muscle screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The massive man raised one hand, then the other, pounding against the walls of her little house so insistently that the whole place rattled.

She flinched at the frantic banging, the noise shaking the thin window panes. It sounded desperate, but not dangerous. And then, through the chaos, she heard it—a rough voice, weak but clear enough to make her freeze in place. “Help me... please.”

Her instincts urged her to stay put, but that voice—it was broken, pleading. She bit her lip, torn between caution and compassion. She couldn’t rush headlong into a mess, but could she really turn away someone who was hurt?

Shifting her grip on the shotgun, she edged toward the door. "Who’s out there?" she called, her voice steady but low, trying to mask the tremor in her heart.

"Just need a place to catch my breath. I promise I won’t cause no trouble. I’m just trying to escape something that ain’t right. I ain’t gonna hurt you, I swear. Please, just let me in for a minute—I’m beggin’ you."

“Lord, have mercy...” Adla muttered under her breath, caught in a bind. She’d always prided herself on being sharp and cautious, but her heart? Too soft, too generous—sometimes for her own good. “What brought you all the way out here?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

“A whole string of bad luck. If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn’t be standin’ here, believe me.” She shook her head, eyes on the lock, knowing this was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Slowly, she twisted it open, pulling the door just wide enough to peek through the screen. 

There he was—wolf turned man, bigger than any person she’d ever seen. His body, thick with muscle, seemed almost sculpted from stone, hard to ignore, even with the bruises and cuts marring his skin. He was bare as the day he was born, flaccid yet exuding a raw strength. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze upward. He had a face that was almost too beautiful, framed by full lips and those captivating eyes. A fierce, primal energy radiated from him, pulling her in and sending a shiver down her spine.

Letting in a naked stranger was easily the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

He was hunched over, leaning against the front of her house like he was too weary to stand on his own. Each second felt like a battle for him, swaying as if the ground beneath him were unsteady. His eyes, weighed down with exhaustion and pain, locked onto hers, drawing her into a tug-of-war between caution and compassion. “You best not be thinkin’ I’m a fool,” Adla warned, flipping the lock on the screen door. He reached for the door, but then jerked his hand back, hissing as if he’d been bitten by a snake.

“What now?” she asked, her brow knitting in confusion as she took a cautious step back, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

“You gotta invite me in.” His voice was ragged, as if every word cost him. She frowned, not quite understanding—didn’t she already by opening the door?

“Come on in,” she finally said, stepping back with her shotgun still in hand, not fully trusting him yet. “Just don’t ruin my floor with all that blood.” He limped inside, his gaze never leaving hers, before collapsing clumsily into a chair in her kitchen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Adla asked, watching as his big hands explored his injuries, assessing the damage. He didn’t answer, too focused on his wounds.

“Hey!” she snapped, needing answers. If she was about to shelter some strange, naked wolf-man, she deserved to know what mess he was dragging to her door. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?” His gaze slid over her, assessing, and suddenly she felt exposed—the cool night air making her nipples pebble beneath her thin nightgown. Shifting uncomfortably, she caught his eyes snapping back to her face.

“Just passin' through. My cousin, Mike, and I ran into some trouble with the wrong crowd back in town. I got hurt, lost track of him, wandered off, and ended up here." He hissed, the twisting and turning only aggravating his injuries even more. "I'm just tryin’ to keep it together long enough to find him.”

“And what’s that gonna take? You getting yourself together?” Adla's skin prickled with unease, a warning that she had stumbled into something far beyond her understanding. She needed him out of her space and her life—pronto.

“You got any vinegar?” His voice rasped, dry as a corn husk.

“‘Course I do.” Adla replied, moving around the kitchen with purpose. Her hands worked quickly yet deliberately, keeping him in her line of sight. She set the bottle down on the table, her eyes sharp and filled with suspicion. “What’s that gonna do?”

“It’ll help me heal.” The words came out strained, frustration simmering beneath the surface, though it was clear he was in no shape to argue. She could feel his urgency, a mirror to her own—both of them itching to be rid of each other.

“What else you need?”

“Baking soda and cayenne powder.”

“That’s it?”

Adla raised an eyebrow but gathered the supplies anyway, her movements smooth but laced with tension. She reached for each item from the cupboard, swaying with practiced ease.

“Fresh garlic wouldn’t hurt, if you have it. Maybe some moonshine.”

She paused, lips pursed. Was he fixin’ to heal or cook?

In no time, her table was cluttered with mismatched items—baking soda, vinegar, garlic, cayenne. It looked more like the makings of some old root-worker’s brew than anything meant to patch up a man.

“Pour the vinegar first to clean it out,” Terry instructed, his voice steadier now despite the pain. “Then mix the soda and spices.” He reached for the garlic bulb, popping it open with one strong press, the sound cutting through the silence. She jumped at the display of casual strength. Just how strong was he?

“Please.” His tone softened, pulling her from her startled state.

Adla shot him a wary look, but something in his voice—a strange vulnerability beneath that tough exterior—made her hesitate. He wasn’t lying; she could feel it deep in her bones. Without a word, he grabbed one of the cloves and swallowed it whole. 

With a slow breath, she set her shotgun by the counter, still close enough to grab if things took a turn. Her daddy would be turning in his grave if he knew she was doing this, but something about Terry had her ignoring every warning bell that usually rang loud and clear.

Standing behind him, she stared at the raw, twisted wounds crawling across his back, almost like vines. “Go on,” Terry grunted through clenched teeth.

Steadying herself, she poured the vinegar down his back, watching it stream over the jagged flesh and trickle down his long legs. Terry tensed, letting out a sharp hiss as the vinegar hit the open wounds. His skin bubbled, frothing where it met, as if fighting something deep within. Adla mixed the baking soda and cayenne in a bowl with water, then followed his instructions to spread the strange paste over his back.

She froze as she saw it—right before her eyes, the skin began pulling together, like unseen threads stitching him back together. It wasn’t fast, but it was happening, slowly mending him back to who he was.

Adla’s breath caught in her throat.

Magic wasn’t something she doubted—any Black woman raised out in the marsh knew better than to dismiss it—but seeing it unfold in her own kitchen? That was something else entirely. Her fingers twitched as she stepped back, eyes wide with awe and caution.

“Keep goin’.” Terry grit out, his voice rough but laced with urgency.

She rolled her eyes, cutting him a sharp look. “Mind how you talk to me, mister. You're in my house.”

Terry mirrored her, letting out an exasperated sigh and tapping his foot impatiently as she took another look at his injuries, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. His muscles tensed and flexed, discomfort rippling through him as the mixture worked its way into his wounds. Whatever it was doing, it sure wasn’t gentle. She caught him tilting the moonshine bottle to his lips, her eyes narrowing. So that’s what that was for. She bit her tongue, figuring now wasn’t the time to fuss about him treating her liquor like his own. He probably needed it more than she did right now.

She knelt to check his leg wounds, only to find herself face-to-face with his... package. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed it seemed to be swelling—whether from the pain, nervousness, or something else entirely, she didn’t know. Her gaze darted away just as quickly.

"Would some aloe help?" she asked, curiosity edging out any pretense of concern. The fabric of her gown grazed his bare skin as she stood, the warmth of her scent wrapping around him like a blanket. He drew in a deep breath and then his eyes fluttered shut.

“Nah, this’ll do,” Terry muttered, his jaw tightening as he shifted again, turning away from her. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft curve of her body just inches away igniting something primal within him. Every movement coiled his muscles tighter, and he fought to keep his breathing steady, hyper-aware of her scent wafting through the air.

Finally, she stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Rest’ll heal on its own. Thank you.” There was sincerity in his tone now, softer than before, though the longing still lingered in the air between them.

“What are you?” She asked softly, testing the waters. She didn’t mean any offense; under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair question.

Terry stiffened for a moment, then met her gaze. “Terry Richmond,” he said, a faint, strained smile flickering across his lips. “But what I am... well, that’s a bit more complicated. Some call me a shifter. I just call myself a survivor.”

“Survivor, huh?” she replied, running the dishrag over her bloody palms. The image of that massive wolf flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the thought that he could swallow her whole without a second thought. “Well, as long as you ain't tryin’ to survive off me, we’ll be alright.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Terry, deep and rough—an echo of a man who’d weathered too much. “Don’t worry, I’ve got enough on my plate without addin’ you to it.” He paused for a beat. “What they call you, miss?”

“Adla.”

That thing between them—the charge—was heavy and palpable, and Adla felt it coursing through the air like a summer storm, but she wasn’t about to act on it—at least, not yet. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Terry froze, his body going rigid, as if he sensed something dangerous lurking.

“Somebody’s comin’,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet despite the visible pain.

“What are you talkin’ about? I don’t hear anything—” Adla’s voice trailed off as she moved to the window, squinting into the early dawn. Her breath caught when she saw a police cruiser creeping down the slick, muddy road. The lights were off, but the car moved deliberately, as if searching. Morning had crept up on her, the sky shifting from inky black to pale gray-blue, the sun just starting to break the horizon.

“It’s him,” Terry growled, his expression hardening with anger. He stood, wincing, but what stopped her cold was the intensity in his eyes—hungry, vengeful. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled, his words cold and laced with hatred.

Her pulse quickened, a dozen questions racing through her mind. Who? There were plenty of officers driving cruisers like that, but the way Terry spoke made it seem like he knew, like he could smell them.

“Hold on a minute,” she snapped, stepping closer to him and placing a hand firmly against his chest. “You just got back on your feet, and you sure as hell ain’t in any shape to fightin’.” She pushed against him gently, but with enough force to drive her point home. He winced, the pain breaking through his tough exterior.

“This is my house, my land, my rules. Sit down and keep quiet. I don’t need them knowing you’re here. You can get your revenge later—on your own time.”

Terry stared her down, jaw clenched, clearly battling with his pride. He was a man used to taking charge, not letting someone else handle his problems—especially not a woman. But Adla met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. They stood at an impasse, tension thick between them like the heavy air before a storm. She didn’t flinch; his size and predatory presence didn’t shake her, not after she’d pulled him back from death’s edge.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Adla grabbed her old housecoat from the hook by the door and pulled it on, tying it tightly around her waist. She shot one last glance at Terry—his wild, dangerous eyes still trained on her—before stepping out onto the porch, her bare feet meeting the wooden planks. The door clicked shut behind her, a barrier between him and whatever came next.

She marched toward the fast approaching car, steeling herself for what was coming.

Police Chief Sandy Burne rolled down his window, a scowl carved deep into his features.

“Good mornin’, Chief,” Adla greeted with a nod. He didn’t bother to return the courtesy, his eyes narrowing as he cut straight to business. “You seen anything strange out here lately?”

Well, yes. There’s a damn wolf man in my kitchen!

“No, sir.”

“You sure, gal?” His tone dripped with skepticism. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, holding steady before speaking again, her voice calm but firm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This was the same tired routine they played whenever their paths crossed. Her daddy had taught her to show respect for the law—not because they earned it, but because they wielded the power to make her life hell, and that was especially true now that he was gone. She was a lone woman in this world, with no safety net outside her own grit.

“Ain't nobody been by? No strangers nosin' around or passin' through?” he pressed, his voice sharper than the edge of a rusty knife.

“No, sir,” she replied, holding his gaze steady, her heart pounding like a war drum. Terry, Jesse—neither were his concern. This part of the marsh was her domain.

Burne’s eyes locked onto hers—beady and treacherous. “Take a look at these pictures. You best be sure,” he warned, passing her sheets of sketches from his window. One was definitely Terry; she recognized him instantly. The other bore a resemblance too—slimmer but sharing the same wide nose and full lips. That must be the cousin he mentioned.

“I ain't seen either of those men,” She lied with a smile, handing the papers back to him. Turning on Terry would be easy, the safest thing to do, but she wouldn’t be complicit in whatever Burne was cooking up. He’d already gotten away with too much. Doubt flickered in the grey-haired man’s eyes. He knew she was lying; she could feel it.

“Alright then. I trust you’ll give me a holler if that changes.” Irritation crossed her face before she could mask it, like a storm cloud rolling in on a clear day. “You got somethin' better to be doing, girl?” There it was again, that single word dripping with the venom of prejudice. Her fist clenched at her sides.

Low growls rumbled from her kitchen, echoing past the porch and into the yard. Adla's heart raced. There was no way that brother was turning into a beast in her kitchen.

“What’s that noise?” Burne demanded.

“A dog,” she replied, keeping her voice casual. “Found him after the storm. Crawled up on my porch and wouldn’t leave. Felt sorry for him, so I let him in. Ain’t like he’s been alone in the house yet.” She prattled on as he swung open the door of his cruiser, stepping out with the confidence of a man with something to prove.

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Just a dog,” she insisted, her heart racing as he prowled around her. If he made it to the porch and caught sight of the blood—

“Chief, we need you.” His radio crackled to life. “Got a report of a violent altercation happening over on Flower Street. It’s Mr. Simmons; the family is requesting you personally.”

Burne narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp as he stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “Watch yourself with them dogs, especially the ones you don’t know. Get too close, and you might end up with fleas. You don’t want that, Ms. Bennett.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find out you’re keeping secrets from me, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

She felt her teeth clench at the threat. 

The growling continued, rising in a way that sent chills down her spine. 

“I’ll call if I see anything worth mentioning.”

Burne gave her one last intense look before climbing back into his cruiser, kicking up mud as he drove off down the winding road. The nerve of that man! Anger simmered in her veins as she imagined him ripped apart, piece by piece. The sensation coursing through her felt electric, tingling deep in her bones like a storm brewing on the horizon.

She marched back into the house, her voice steady but firm. “You can rest and pull yourself together, but after that, you gotta leave, and don’t even think about coming back.”

Terry nodded, understanding the finality in her tone. As much as he wanted to jump into action against Burne, he wasn’t ready. He and Mike had stumbled into this trouble by underestimating Burne. If Terry was gonna get Mike back, he had to regain his strength, and that meant he needed to rest.

“Don’t move. I’ll find you something to wear,” Adla muttered, tugging a storage bag down from the top of the closet. Her fingers sifted through the men’s clothes she hadn’t had the heart to toss—each piece a remnant of her Daddy’s spirit, lingering like a ghost in her memories. The thought alone weighed heavy on her heart.

“Here,” she said, passing him some of her Daddy’s old things, the ghost of his scent still clinging to the fabric. Terry’s fingers grazed against hers, lingering just a moment too long before she turned away from him.

With a sigh, she led Terry to her childhood bedroom, gesturing to the too-small twin bed where she once dreamed of escaping this very life. No way was she inviting him into her own bed. That was a can of worms she feared would never close if she pried it open.

“Thanks,” Terry said softly, standing too close. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, like he was weaving an unintentional spell. She shook off the feeling. “Ain’t no thing,” she replied, her tone casual but guarded. “Just get some rest. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

Sinking onto the plastic-covered sectional, she felt the crinkling beneath her as her mind raced. Thoughts tumbled over one another, tangled like the Spanish moss outside. Something about Terry being a shifter tugged at her like an old tune she couldn’t quite place—more than just town legends.

One thing was for sure: she’d never seen skin behave the way his had. That was a memory she’d never shake.

Jesse’s grandmother had been a healer, claiming she could cure anything as long as the healed soul accepted the consequences. That same woman brewed her soothing teas on nights when her father was away on the fishing boat, filling the gaps her mother left behind. As a child, Adla had believed in her magic without question. But the older she got, the more it felt like a fairytale—yet perhaps it had been right there all along, hidden in plain sight.

Minutes passed before loud, unmistakable snores broke through the fog of thoughts. Terry sounded every bit like the beast she knew he could become. Rising, she moved to close the cracked bedroom door. She didn’t trust him alone in her space, but the openness felt like it was clouding her ability to think clearly.

Glancing inside, her gaze roamed over his sleeping form. He lay stretched out, exuding a readiness even in slumber. Her eyes lingered on the defined veins in his arms, the ink marking his bicep.

He was undeniably attractive.

Terry hadn’t bothered to wear any of the shirts she’d given him; the faded sheets barely covered his waist. With each breath, his abs flexed, drawing her in closer. A rush of heat flooded her skin as her mind wandered to what lay just beneath those sheets. She felt like a trespasser in her own childhood bedroom—caught between the past and a present that dared her to let go.

Terry stirred as the door creaked open, a tired smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I don’t mind a little company while I dream.” He drawled, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he was her man, waiting for her to slip into bed beside him, not some stranger she'd only met a few hours ago.

She gasped, her face growing hot. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin' to disturb you or nothin’.”

Terry sank deeper into the pillowcase that held her scent—a calming blend of saltwater and magnolias, with a hint of citrus underneath. She couldn’t deny how it felt seeing him there, laid out in her bed with his hands tucked behind his head like he belonged. And it was clear he liked it too. The thought stirred something deep inside her, intoxicating and undeniable.

“I just wanted to close the door, that’s all. You were snorin’ like a bear, and I—”

Her mouth hung open as he shifted on the bed, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal more of his toned torso, the warm light from the window casting soft shadows across his skin.

“This here’s your house, your rules, don’t forget,” he teased, a playful edge to his tone but laced with something sharper.

The idea of climbing in beside him was oh-so-tempting. She’d never felt a heat like this pooling between her thighs, searing and intense. Adla had always feared falling in love, haunted by how losing her mother had shattered her father, but she had nothing against the thrill of hot flings. She loved the playful banter and the slow build to something deeper with a man. With Jesse, it took years to reach that point, but with Terry, the heat flared too quickly. He made her want to toss caution aside, and that sense of risk sent shivers down her spine.

“What do you take me for?” She shot back, one hand perched confidently on her hip.

He remembered how she’d pushed him earlier, bossing him around with that fierce spirit. He craved her fire, even if it meant getting burned. “A woman who knows how to take charge and go after what she wants. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there?”

He had that look about him—sure of himself, like a cat toying with a canary, or maybe a werewolf eyeing a Southern belle, ripe for the taking. "Quit playin' around with me." She turned to leave, but he caught her arm, pulling her down to the edge of the bed. She didn't fight him. "You ain’t scared, are you? Thinkin' I might just gobble you up?"

"Just caught off guard, that’s all." Her gaze lingered on his lips, like a wild cat reduced to a purring house cat. Heat pooled beneath her skin, making her feel as if she needed to shed layers. “I ain’t scared of you,” she insisted.

Terry’s soft, seductive smile shifted into a confident smirk. "You got no reason to be," he replied, leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around her. “I ain’t gon’ bite… ‘less you ask real polite.”

A deep pulse thrummed through her core, something fierce. She felt like prey, yet made no move to escape the gaze of her predator. His focus sharpened on the pulse in her neck, and he leaned in, his soft lips grazing her skin as her blood rushed to the surface. She trembled in his embrace. "Don’t you worry, Ms. Adla. You ain't asking for it... not yet."

She gasped as his warm tongue flicked out, pressing against her skin, meant to soothe, yet it sent her heart racing. “Please,” she breathed, torn between desire and confusion.

“Please what?” he asked, pulling back to meet her big brown eyes. She looked like a doll, wild curls escaping from beneath her scarf, the bright blooms of her nightgown drawing his gaze. Her soft curves were undeniable, making it nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

“Don’t devour me,” she whispered, the weight of her words thick with the understanding that she wouldn’t survive if he did. Already drowning in sorrow, she struggled with the truth that the supernatural was real and had come knocking at her door. Her mind raced back to Jesse's grandmother—wait, Jesse.

In an instant, she jolted out of his arms, springing up from the bed as if it had caught fire beneath her.

Terry watched her, a mix of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quickened breaths, and he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet room. "You okay, there, sugar?"

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied quickly, her voice shaky. “I just... I gotta think.”

“You sure ‘bout that? You look a tad flustered to me.” Terry’s eyes danced with mischief as he grinned, leaning back against the tiny headboard like he owned the place.

Adla felt the tension crackle between them, electricity simmering in the air. “I’m not about to get caught up in whatever foolishness you’ve got goin’ on,” she declared, though her voice wavered, betraying the strength she wished she had.

“You’re already knee-deep in this swamp with me. Ain’t no runnin’ from that now.”

Chapter Three.

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